About fears of BelarusianOn Friday, at the very end of the working day, a certain check appeared at us. UBEP roofing felts, whether OBEP, whether still what terrible and at the same time sickly-sweet tender children, from mysterious departments of economic crimes.
One - bald and serious, with a face of the mobster and traces of unlimited libations, in a leather jacket - is direct the security officer of modern hard days of Belarus. The second - with manners of the tutor of indicative orphanage - directly kind kopek. The third - all rummaged in our folders and a nose outside did not show. On appearance - a pink-checked share - the boy who gorged on grandmother`s pies.
These three looked for. At the beginning I, “which never was investigated anywhere“, even was not going to get the idea of what these three sniffed up. I knew that I am pure and chesen: before the Homeland, before party, before the conscience. However having observed, in intervals between an obrabatyvaniye of all important - prevazhny pieces of paper, I out of the corner of the eye noted a noticeable roughness in gestures and pallor in faces of the colleagues which also
were clean as crystal after a sink, but which were for some reason deprived of my tranquility.
After at seven o`clock in the evening new inquisitors at last took out for check eight - ten vavilon of folders in order that to find something, and expressly having politely said goodbye - having nearly kissed in both cheeks with the persons under investigation - and disappeared in the condensed twilight of February, one colleague, at last, flung away deliberate business comme il faut aside, and in a feminine way emotionally at once threw out all the internal experiences: “the chief - a goat, did not even appear“, “can cling to contracts, it the new person - not everything can be as it should be“, “who will feed children if to find something?“.
The second, even more nervous employee, without long verbalizations, it is lost - frighteningly as the Blotter in the movie “The Meeting Place Can Not Be Changed“ in a scene of delivery of bandits to Gleb Zheglov and his companions, squeaky gave out: “It is necessary to write the application“.
I, most likely, owing to the natural dullness in such affairs, all gravity and importance of the moment did not understand.
Disgusting, disgusting, sticky, as the zakisly retuza impregnated then, pervasive FEAR of Belarusians, at the subconscious level, in blood, in a brain, in skin pores. The FEAR that “something will be found“ - even if did nothing. FEAR that “of something it is guilty“ - though I do not know in what. FEAR in which all live.
Fear which is felt everywhere: in gosucherezhdeniye, in shops, on streets. The fear in which the little, unprotected Belarusian it is paralyzed lives. He lives in him the semi-stiffened concrete block of the feelings and thoughts. The fear with which all are familiar and which is silent, and one by one digests everyone in itself.
On the European statistics life expectancy in Belarus is higher only what in Russia. On number of suicides the republic ahead of all. On number of prisoners - also. Only it out of discussions. It is probable not to spoil other, own statistics about an average salary and to unemployment rate.
Of course, such internal, permanent fears not the only reason of short duration of such rather safe Belarusian life (to Russians good roads, some not absolutely disorganized “social sphere“, some somehow functioning medicine and education, relative safety are right there remembered). Is still, still “is“, Chernobyl with the whole palette of cancer diseases. Bad “ecology“, despite of “blue-eyed edge of the woods and lakes“. And a lot what is. But if about “ecology“ and Chernobyl somehow and somewhere, in with calm silent tones it is continually told, then about strongly sitting fear of Belarusians of everyone to the mighty of this world, it is not told even in a whisper, in kitchen.