The letter the fourth Hospital, or a way fortunately ofto you for certain was necessary to be in hospital. To whom the appendix was cut out, and who had jaundice. My friend Sashka is the Grasshopper, at the age of 11 years, was in hospital more than half a year. There was it so. We played at a playground, and there, there was a children`s hill. Huge iron monster. The monster was not attached to the concrete platform on which stood. And we often shook it to the right - to the left, to the right - to the left. We so played it. And once, having shaken stronger usually, the monster fell to the Grasshopper. Precisely in the middle. Oh - Bach!
The grasshopper was brought immediately to hospital. Put in reanimation. The doctor told “Basin is shattered“. Now I understand horror of an event. The basin bones which scattered on tens of new bones … Not hands, not a leg. Even not skulls which somehow can be put together as an unsuccessful mosaic, but it is possible. And how to put basin bones which sit deeply in you and they are not visible? The grasshopper then lay half a year “legs in a ceiling“. And half a year more learned to go anew. As it sustained the first half a year, I do not understand because I cannot stay in bed in a bed and day.
Earlier I thought that in hospitals there is nothing pleasant. It not that place where the person aspires. This that place which he wants to leave and forget quicker. The hospital is a vale of pain and suffering. In hospital as, the person feels universal loneliness, forlornness and vulnerability anywhere.
However in my case everything appeared about accuracy on the contrary. After reanimation, having taken at me blood samples, I was transferred to separate chamber in which nobody, except me was. At first I was going to feel sorry for myself and already looked out the swelled up a little eyes in the distance for Grief and Melancholy when suddenly on the horizon the Unexpected Pleasure loomed.
I lay facing a window in which some five-floor ancient house was seen, and at the left in a window paws of a huge fir-tree looked, I looked out of this window, and could not understand the feelings. Strange, but instead of sisters of Grief and Melancholy whom I knew how myself and of whom I waited for the visit on a window sill I saw translucent, hardly visible silhouette, the young person. On the person there was a simple white dress, in hair a wreath from some herbs, and on a ruddy face the white teeth smile shone.
- You who? - hoarsely and scaredly I croaked.
- I? The unexpected Pleasure - laughed the person.
- And what you do here and where Grief and Melancholy?
- Where Grief and Melancholy? To them bothered to come to you. How many it is possible? They so often are at you that on them the grief and melancholy found - the person loudly laughed. - Now I will visit you.
- What the hell … - I dropped the head on a pillow, trying to call Despair and Rage. But neither the Rage, nor Despair appeared anywhere. Only Unexpected Pleasure.
From this day, despite a rain and snow, on the fact that to me nobody came and I was in hospital all left and to nobody necessary, I experienced such inflow of pleasure and happiness that to me sometimes from them became badly.
I often carried out by a palm on a forehead, expecting to feel heat. But … any heat. And in general, I felt surprisingly well.
The inexplicable feeling of an unclear schastlivost haunted me. I tried to find a logical explanation for the state again and again. And, at last, as it seemed to me, began to understand that “not so“. The explanation was very simple and the most true. I zadolbatsya so “at liberty“, cutting circles along the same route, among the same people, at the same work that even stay in hospital was presented to me by entire happiness. How many it is possible to go to the same work, to sit in the same place, to see the same faces? To go there and back on the same road, to come home and to fry to itself potato or to cook pelmeni, to watch the same stupid telecasts? And to understand that everything does not make the slightest sense.
I suddenly with irritation understood that all I achieved in four years of work on the place, was eaten and spent by me for the « TV; Sharp “ the microwave and any rags which rushed exactly one season and them should be thrown out then. In the beginning I showed an initiative, made innovative offers, climbed with the councils, but on me only hissed. Once even took place very private conversation which organizers popularly explained to me that “you want to keep the place - do not show off“. Still I continued some time in the same spirit. Some of my offers were taken advantage, however, under other name. But the main thing, were accepted. And then I ceased “to show off“. In two years when understood that the one who “does not show off“ lives better. That there is no difference meanwhile, who works really and that who just wipes trousers any.
I suddenly with horror understood that I, to twenty five here and will eat ten computer programs knowing three foreign languages, independently mastered and knowing the business blindly until the end of the days everything earned while those whose nonsense and platitude iyerekhionsky pipes sound in each word, in each act and each gesture, will live in two-storeyed mansions, to drive expensive cars and to me will be to them, as to the Moon. And then it became for the first time terribly offensive for me. Offensively the hell for. No, of course, happiness not in money. And material benefits - not the most important in life. But where elementary justice? Where a reason celebration over nonsense? Where deserved to deserved?
Itself, being a hater of life and senseless vanity with all “important - prevazhny“ affairs, like obligatory repair in the apartment of times in two years, purchase of stuff without which, well, in any way not to manage, economy of money for a trip to some Egypt or Antalya to lower everything in two weeks, I, it is imperceptible for itself, fell a victim of the hatred. Rolled down in that sin which so condemned. “Grew“ with life up to the eyebrows and ceased to notice that, struggling with a dragon, I this dragon began to become.
I lay on the lonely bed, in the lonely chamber and looked out of the huge lonely window without curtains, at the left in which shaggy branches of a fir-tree nodded to me, and the ancient house was seen on the right. Looking at this house, to me Andersen`s fairy tales were remembered, or Blok`s quatrain, such mysterious and unclear which so bewitched me in youth for some reason occurred: “As if dreams, pale in the past, persons are familiar to me lines, and fragments of unknown words as if responses of the distant worlds“. This house was “response“ of the distant world. It was a window in my past. In my youthful dreams. In unknown, distant dreams. Looking there, to me it became so good, so warmly and pokoyno that I languidly covered eyes and slowly “departured“.
The next morning I learned news: in reanimation “Foundling“ died. The foundling lay to the right of me. Once I turned the head to the right, before me there was the same picture: it is red - a blue bearded face of “bruise“. And “Foundling“ because he was found. Whether on a market, whether still where. Found his body. All hackneyed, frozen. At itself it had no documents. The name it then was not established yet. Well, also brought in “reany“. Nobody felt sorry for him. And that, it is visible on shape that from that, “free brotherhood“ which does not work, is homeless and godlessly makes sour any bum wine. In “reanem“ “kind“ nurses and doctors almost did not notice it. Brought, connected to a dropper and any tubes because so it was required. Identified his suspicious personality and loudly argued, at its presence whether “not to get rid of it to make room“.
I when lay in reanimation of the Foundling was not sorry. Not before was. Most to get out. And when learned news that he died, so seized me by heart, so zanylo somewhere there inside as if I lost the brother. There was a person, and there is no person. And we are.