Rus Articles Journal

The happiest day of

That summer day which was fated to become further the happiest in my life began worse than ever.

Since morning I swore with mother. Mother found me practically on a threshold who is running away in Tretyakov gallery and violently laid out everything that in me was not pleasant to it. But it did not like the one whom I loved for the sake of which I skipped classes in University with which photo I slept and from - for whom did not see around herself “such lovely boys“.

I left the house offended up to the soul depth. I was 17 years old, and the last 3 of them my heart was given “To the demon sitting“ Vrubel`s brushes.

In Tretyakov gallery me was well known. All possible aunties - on cash desk, in clothes, in halls greeted me. I, as usual, passed to Vrubel and stiffened before “Demon“. In such state I should stay before closing - hours past for me quickly when I beheld it. But day differed from the others - I heard conversation of two inspectors that the museum will be closed on restoration soon.

With tears I ran on Tretyakov gallery and asked where will put “Demon“. Nobody plainly knew anything, but said that restoration can last even several years, and pictures will just lie in store rooms.


even the new reproduction, more colourful could not console Me, than what I found earlier. I represented rough pleasure for the kind aunty, went outside and burst out crying absolutely greedily. I just could not imagine - AS I will live, without seeing the Demon.

to Share

there was nobody - the best friend was at the dacha. I practically ran down the street, bearing a reproduction before myself and fighting back tears. Then the bump a face in something rigid was.

came up

Ya from the grief and found out that I rest the head to someone against a stomach. Threw back a neck and...

would not tell

that I dropped a handbag and a reproduction. I just released them, ceased to hold.

It was real. Perhaps, if I met on the street 2 now - the meter Demon with a big trunk, I would turn away and a fast pace went to the psychiatrist. But in 17 years Assol still waits for scarlet sails, and I accepted a miracle as due - I loved it, and it came to me. No matter, that it was a picture.

Having twisted

a neck to a limit, in the middle of the brisk street I with pleasure indulged in contemplation. It was even more beautiful, than on a cloth - black hair streamed on hips, eyelashes seemed improbably big, and eyes had the section hinting at the East. Any of mother`s “lovely boys“ did not possess such accurately outlined lips and cheekbones, could not brag of such long and slender fingers at anybody of them it was impossible to find such muscles on quite thin body.

accurately decided

Ya that it - perfection. And this perfection looked at me black - black eyes, without looking away.

Us began to be pushed enough noticeably. And then someone stepped on my handbag, and its contents scattered on kind meter around.

my perfection began to collect by

on asphalt spirits, rings and money. And then he started talking. And from the first words everything was accurate and clear for me.

He told that he just arrived, and he has no place to live.

Where there live demons?


Ya it to itself home.

we entered the subway, holding hands - I would not decide, but it surely caught my palm. Then crowd densely pressed us to each other, and I nestled a cheek on his stomach, and happiness prevented me to breathe.

Ya it was to such an extent happy that breath intercepted, and heart beat. If I was asked whether I want to die, I would agree. I just could not imagine how I will live further when happiness leaves, and did not want to live without this feeling, shrill to pain, again.

of the House us was found by a note from my mother:“ Left to the girlfriend for about two weeks. Money on a table“. We sat in kitchen - the real demon in my usual kitchen! He held me by a hand and told about himself. By then I already read its book twice and always looked forward to a release of its new articles. He was the foreigner who arrived to Moscow for a month. Money stole from it in the train.

- you is married? - he asked. there is no
- Are betrothed? there is no
- Let`s get married. Tomorrow.

Then he kissed me, and it was not similar neither to books, nor to movies, nor to stories of girlfriends. A fiery sphere happiness rode on a body, and hardly it took away hands - it became sick.

In my room covered with reproductions of “Demon“ we fell to a bed and “became uniform“. And, despite the lack of at least minimum experience at both parties, my happiness soon found to itself a way out, and the orgasm was not similar neither to books, nor to stories of girlfriends too.

Ya did not sleep that night - looked at it. My happiness as at Assol, was already curtailed “a fluffy kitten“ somewhere inside. Now I tried to believe that I do not sleep and I do not rave, and it really mine.

Ya it is careful, with bated breath, kissed his hands, and happiness jumped up in a breast.

* * *

my husband remained in Russia, I ceased to go to Tretyakov gallery and presented to it the daughter. We never left to his death.