Everyone tries to buy happiness ofFor holidays a little happiness. To buy as if it can be bought. Or to win. Or to find, rolling in the next gate.
The people who before were working without cease, getting to themselves very much stomach ulcer, a nervous breakdown or the “looked younger“ heart attack with a stroke for holidays as the mice who on an attic gorged on mouse to poison suddenly amicably go crazy.
Young and old, safe and not really, all some lives rumpled and frayed from this expectation of the next holiday, with unnatural gloss in the stunned eyes, they a crowd pour out on the same rumpled and shabby streets and sidewalks, the cars filled to refusal escape on the nature, to the sea, the small river, the wood, ogoltet and sweating rush on the fazenda - dachas. And there, having seized upon all this happiness and delight, upon all this next dream of all their life, they revel in warm and cold beer, mixing it with immemorial vodka, jam all this in the huge portions in due form of the prepared shish kebab generously flavored with ketchup and mayonnaise mixed up with pieces of raw smoked sausage, fat, cheese and is unclear from where that the undertaken sausages.
They inattentively shout songs, run stark naked, bathe in the cold small river, try to stick to own wives, declare all audience the brothers for ever, and, at last, drunk in a dymina, with blown up from eaten and drunk by stomachs, with the torn apart knees and faces bitten by mosquitoes, they happily fall asleep as children, in strong confidence that tomorrow they are waited by one more happy and unique day. Day of happiness.
But early in the morning, having hardly woken up, and having hardly remembered who are they and as they got here, through a wild headache, begin to torment them some vague doubts that happiness is already not so firm as it seemed yesterday.
To banish these vague doubts and to become stronger in the yesterday`s feelings of happiness, they with the doubled force, start over again sipping slowly yesterday`s cold and not really beer, generously flavoring it with vodka and having a snack on all this killing cocktail on the yesterday`s overroasted shish kebab, sausage, fat and unfinished sausages … And happiness again to them comes back. They exult, rejoice as children.
They run naked again, bathe in the cold river, shout by a bad voice of a song, try to stick not to the wives any more, to death swear at those with whom they fraternized forever only yesterday, promise to show all a kuzkina mother and where crayfish winter, take the wheel and, without having started the engine, try to leave home, having understood, to the huge disappointment that happiness as the playful courtesan, again them betrayed them and left to someone else.
So, left and unfortunate, they fall asleep where - nibud on a back seat not of the car, or having stretched in a jump of Chinese Bruce Lee, in one sandal, without having reached meter a fire, or having stuck with the person into an oak table on which all honest company so dashingly danced until recently a tap dance.
For the third day even more unfortunate and tired, than till a holiday, they cannot find any peace from a headache, but even more from consciousness that happiness betrayed them again, left forever and it not to be happy any more. But these torments last not for long as ahead one more “day of happiness“ - means, happiness should be returned, and they that know a certain way.
Sbegav in the next shop behind five bottles of &ndash vodka; as “for entire happiness“ is not enough absolutely slightly - slightly - and, seem, already strong having lassoed this wild and fine animal - happiness, they forever tie him to the being who was stunned by happiness, and play tricks all night long completely.
They eat a half-cooked shish kebab together with sausages in cellophane, wash down all with the moonshine bought in the village nearby and still by some bum wine which is called “Cabernet zhyun wines of 1985“ which ladies took for themselves, but which in the first two days neither hands, nor legs reached. They overturn on a fire fish soup in a kettle which prepares the third day in a row, run to bathe because they ashore extremely hot, but, having stumbled about a stone, fall and are passed by a nose on the ground, shout that life is fine and and fall asleep in full confidence that happiness will never abandon them now.
Some less happy, but more sober companion carries them on houses, hands in an integrity and safety to happy members of household still a warm body with a crazy smile on lips. Smile of the happy person.
But next day they in the end are disappointed in everything and agree with words of the classic that “on light of happiness is not present“. Killed and lost from the fact that happiness was so close, they with a look sentenced to lifelong penal servitude trudge for work, swear at colleagues, cannot see themselves in a mirror, and understand that this world was created only for torments and suffering. And here since this moment, from the moment of understanding that not to buy and not to find happiness in the next gate, happiness begins to come back to them. But they do not know about it so far.