Red Star

Chapter 20

...People "back".

I let myself be persuaded not to be offended and did not show off any more. What for? I had a little too much Italian, but Beavis was really pissed off.

From third to fifth grade, I studied with piano teachers at home. In three years, there were four of them, but none of them managed to instill in me an interest in the instrument.

At first, I really wanted to learn to play the piano, and then the classes turned into serving a heavy duty, under the pressure of my mother. In the apartment we had a great German instrument "Perzina" of the 19th century, but nothing helped.

By the end of fifth grade, my mother had finally given up all hope of making me a piano player and stopped bothering us with it and futilely sponsoring Tutors.

As a result, I could play "To Elise" and "Winged swing" pretty well all my life, but that was my ceiling.

Later, as an adult, I sometimes regretted that I never learned to play the piano, but that was all. But today, Beavis's words and reaction stung, not in a childish way. And since I couldn't think of any other way to "beat" him, I used the "Italian version", because I correctly assumed that the English, talented Jew, most likely knows. And it burned! Heh...

After my "demonstration", further communication was, to the point of cloying, polite. We all pretended that nothing had happened before and discussed purely technical issues of further cooperation. Beavis was interested in whether I had registered the lyrics in Vaap, whether my songs had been performed before, whether I had any obligations to anyone, and, finally, whether there were any more songs "for Senchina"?

I, accordingly, replied that I would register the song, and if he would help me do it correctly, I would be grateful. Previously, my songs were not performed, but now they will be performed often. I only have obligations to my mother and my Country. I wrote only one song for Senchina, but life doesn't end tomorrow and everything is possible...

Almost every answer I gave him was not satisfied with something, maybe in tone, maybe in content, or the fact that I was on an equal footing, but Beavis courageously suppressed his irritation and continued to communicate very kindly.

We settled on the fact that I register the song in Waapa, and Beavis helps me. The lyrics will be mine, and we will be co-authors in the music. Senchina learns the song together with the orchestra and includes it in her repertoire.

Ostentatiously friendly saying goodbye to Senchina and Beavis, Lech and I went home.

- Why did you fight with him? - already in the car, Lech asked.

"You can't put it in its place right now, and then it'll sit on your neck all the way," I said irritably. The results of communication with the Senchina-Beavis pair could only be considered partially successful. Senchin will sing the song as planned, but it doesn't seem to be an ally yet - he looks into Beavis's mouth. And it could have been beautiful! Senchina country sings my songs, and in the ears of Romanov, what a good and talented I am. Well, or at least creates a benevolent attitude towards my person. And Beavis puts my musical Moo on the notes and his orchestra crushes the competitor, in the face of the orchestra of Paul Moria!

But it didn't work and it won't work - I feel it. And the fact that he famously signed himself up as a co-author of " my " music also greatly distressed me. Not that it's a pity, especially since he really picked up the melody quickly, but it's not nice to take a piece of ice cream from a child. And you wasted your Italian, you vain moron.

These considerations, well, in addition to Italian, I shared with Lech.

- Are you sorry that his last name will appear before the song? - surprised Lech-your same, too, there will be, and in words so you, at all, one.

"What's the last name got to do with it?" I tried to control my annoyance - it's money. He will earn a my song at concerts and touring, so more and more got cheapskate.

"You have a lot of money, didn't you say?" - Lech, without distracting himself from the road, gave me a quick glance.

"I have money, Lyosha. But they are like litmus paper, immediately highlight the behavior of a person. You heard about the money and all you cared about was that it wasn't criminal. And he even hid his annoyance and dislike, just to earn them and squeeze a piece out of the child.

- You know, how old are you? Lech asked calmly.

"Fourteen," I answered automatically. I asked, realizing that the question was unusual.

- And you talk as if you know the whole truth, and you own all the money, - Lech said just as calmly, without taking his eyes off the road.

A sudden realization shot through me,and my heart began to race. I was silent, trying to figure out what to do next.

- Maybe I know, maybe I own, - I hear my voice, as if from the side.

"Then why did you tell me about the money?" I might also want to "squeeze", as you say. Isn't it dangerous? Lehi's voice was measured. His big hands were calm on the steering wheel, and he was driving quite calmly, but it was all clear to me.

"Dangerous, of course. But you're a different person, or you wouldn't have told me.

"Another one?" - Lech crookedly grinned and stopped at the traffic light - and if you were wrong?

"And if I had made a mistake, I would have just shot him," I replied, trying to imitate Lekhina's calmness.

We started smoothly from the traffic light. Lech was silent.

"Well, what else would you do?" You're healthy, I wouldn't be able to handle it, so if you were a scoundrel, then... I paused.

"Well, I thought so. Thank you for not lying, " Lech suddenly said.

"Got in?" I asked neutrally.

- Got in, - Lech nodded - I'm a locksmith, I'm not going to open a workbench or something?..

- let's Go to the store, take a meal and go to the Harbor, we need to talk.

- Yes, let's go-Lech agreed complaisantly - and we need to eat and talk.

We parked at the first supermarket We came across and bought a slice of doctor's, melted and glazed cheeses, three bottles of Baikal, bread, squash caviar, steers in tomato sauce, and, at my request, a bottle of KV FOR four eighty. I also wanted to get some gum, but I didn't have any, so we took a can of instant coffee and a box of Sadko chocolates.

I remembered chewing gum to chew on the smell of alcohol, because I was going to drink it today. This same logical chain led me to call my mother and report my existence.

I shot at Lehi's "two-piece" and got into the payphone, since it was two steps away from the entrance to the "Supermarket".

In my mother's Department, the phone was on the boss's Desk, so he usually picked it up.

Trained by my mother, I always blurted out the same "Hello, buddyubelubeznyprositepozhaluystaludmiluivanovna" and often heard the muffled call of the chief in the tube:

- Lyudmila, your "machine Gun" is ringing!

However, this time everything went differently.

- Hello, Vitya! This is Vladimir Alekseevich, your mother's colleague.

- Hello, Vladimir Alekseevich, - I answer carefully - I know You are my mother's boss. What happened?

- why, nothing happened at all! I just wanted to ask you how your health is. We've read all about what happened in the papers and we're very proud of you! Your mother raised a very worthy son! You are a great fellow and a true citizen of our great Motherland!

It was clear from the voice that the adult man was really excited and spoke absolutely seriously. From my mother's conversations on the phone with friends, I knew that the chief has two sons, and they are both officers, so I answered like this:

- Vladimir Alexandrovich, I am sure that if You or Your sons were in my place, you would all do the same.

The officer, who, like all the bosses in the military research Institute, was a soldier, fell silent in confusion, and then mumbled what the Sobkor of "Soviet Russia" had already told me:

- Well, we are already adults...

- there were no Adults around, I had to do it myself...

- So I say, - the voice of the chief got stronger - you are a great fellow and we are all proud of you! Let's get better completely!

Mom immediately picked up the phone, apparently, was already standing next to her. I reported that I had bought all the Newspapers and had just met with Lyosha.

My mother favored Lech, especially since once in the hospital, he regretted in his heart that he was not next to me "in that entrance". This was said under my breath in the presence of my mother and grandfather, when we were playing cards in this line-up. As I understand it, no one then had any doubts that the maniac would not have survived this meeting.

Satisfied that I was not just wandering around the street, but was close to someone who could protect me," if anything, " my mother said that retluev had already called Her at work three times and asked me to call him at the Department.

"There's someone waiting for you at his place, correspondents, I think," my mother suggested.

The following Lehena "kopeck piece"went the call Relievo. He was "on edge" and short:

- where are you walking? Come to my office immediately! Address know?

- What happened, what Ilyas Mutalovich? - I tried to reconnoiter the situation.

- If you come,will you find out how long it will take you?

"In about thirty minutes," I said.

"Hurry up and tell the clerk on the first floor your last name." Everyone, hurry up! - Releev hung up.

On the move, he recounted the conversation to Lech, and we rushed to his house to change clothes!

Having regained my "purely Soviet appearance", after another ten minutes, I told the Lieutenant on duty my last name.

Releev quickly appeared and dragged me into the "dungeons of the bloody gebni". Heh!.. The only thing he said was that "comrades from the regional Committee and the police Department" were waiting for me there for more than an hour.

A minute later I was in the office of the chief of the police Department, Colonel Zaymishin Fyodor Yakovlevich, as he introduced himself, and besides him there was a police Lieutenant Colonel I didn't know and a well-known "obkomovets in gray", the same one who brought correspondents to school. His name was Viktor Mikhailovich - namesake, so I remembered from the first time.

This Viktor Mikhailovich stunned me:

- Viktor, by decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR, for your bravery and selflessness in detaining a dangerous criminal, you were awarded the state award - the medal "for excellent service in protecting public order". The decree was signed four days ago by comrade Brezhnev. The award ceremony will be held in the Kremlin on Monday. We must go.

Blia... What else can I say?.. A curtain.

29.05.78, Monday (my 99th day in the USSR)

It's funny! As we walked along the corridors, everyone looked back at our strange company. More precisely, only I was strange in the company, because along the corridors of the Kremlin, the Deputy interior Minister was accompanied by three pathetic Lieutenant colonels and a whole schoolboy! Heh...

One of the Lieutenant colonels, Nikolai Konstantinovich, met us on the platform of the Leningrad railway station at 7:55 this morning - the branded "Red arrow" was not a minute late. "Us" is me, my mother and "obkomovsky" Viktor Mikhailovich. We rode in the same compartment. Viktor Mikhailovich Zhulebin turned out to be Romanov's assistant and was taking some documents to the chief for the Politburo meeting. Gregory himself, the young man was already in the capital.

"I usually fly to Moscow," Zhulebin said, " but I like trains, so I decided to take advantage of this opportunity to take a ride with You.

We sat very heartily, my mother, according to a purely Soviet tradition, took food on the road - it was very useful... Viktor Mikhailovich put down the Armenian "Akhtamar". First, under the clatter of wagon wheels, the adults lightly discussed "this hero", then the namesake tasted home-made food and was silent for a while, working with his jaws. This was followed by a special "train" tea in metal Cup holders with my mother's magic "lemongrass". This development of events, flavored with " excellent cognac "(I personally had to take this assessment at its word) led to informal communication, gambling "fool" and going to bed at half past two in the morning!

Nevertheless, the morning was greeted cheerfully. Viktor Mikhailovich tried to instruct me on how to behave in the Kremlin, my mother was worried, I smiled and nodded - I frankly didn't care. Once again, the forgotten feeling that everything is not real, and I participate in an exciting game!

From the station, Zhulebin and I drove away in different "Volga" Cars, but ours had a flashing light! Heh... The Lieutenant Colonel who met him was extremely kind and helpful, either a well-bred person, or they gave the appropriate "indication". Or maybe all together, I didn't care much about such subtleties. I was lost in myself and repeated poems and anecdotes in my memory.

After receiving the epochal news about the trip to Moscow on Friday, I began to prepare for it seriously. From the office of the head of the police Department, I called my mother at work, and in time I realized to pass the information received not to her, but first to her boss. My words, backed up by Romanov's assistant who picked up the phone, had an instant magical effect. My mother was issued a business trip to Moscow and, immediately after that, was released from work.

Viktor Mikhailovich informed me about the time of the meeting on Sunday evening at the Moscow railway station and handed me the phone numbers for communication. I said a warm goodbye to everyone present, who, in turn, congratulated me on the high award, and went to Lech, who was languishing on the street in complete obscurity.

After exchanging the first raptures, we rushed to the Harbor - I needed to take my iPhone home. And the "heart-to-heart" conversation was easily postponed until my return from Moscow. Whatever Lech saw in the workbench that I turned into a safe, he did not see the main thing. Driven by an incomprehensible impulse, I, for some reason, hid the iPhone with the Mauser in the boat locker, and not in the workbench. So there was still room for maneuver in the conversation.

We were placed in a hotel, in the very center, on Pushkinskaya street. There was no sign, but it was obviously a departmental hotel, because police uniforms were everywhere. Our room was double and very ordinary: two beds, two bedside tables, a table, two chairs, a telephone and a black-and-white TV. Functional and concise...

They had just taken turns to take a shower, when Nikolai Konstantinovich was already calling on the phone, inviting me to have Breakfast, but my mother, taking my school uniform and her dress, went to make them look immaculate in the floor ironer. I spent a quarter of an hour in front of the mirror, rehearsing various muzzles: from soulful-sublime to "Shrek-cat".

We had Breakfast in the buffet on the 4th floor. I washed down two sausages with strong mustard and black bread with a foaming Pepsi-Cola, and with sweet tea I made a sandwich with smoked sausage and cheesecake. It's good to be young again! By figs cholesterol, diets and healthy eating, although in this childhood I was definitely thinner and more athletic. And there is one more nuance. Every August, they bought me a new school uniform, so on Saturday, my mother would release my trousers, sewn in August, and was surprised how I stretched out, just in a few days. The Lieutenant Colonel categorically stopped my mother's attempt to pay and sent us to the room to change, it was time to go.

We were allowed to enter the Kremlin by car, but before that the ensign carefully checked the documents, not at all embarrassed by the fact that he was "pickling" an entire Lieutenant Colonel. Then the Volga rolled up to one of the buildings and we went inside.

My mother and I were separated here. The woman who met us took my mother with her, who, with wet eyes, kissed me on the cheek and wished me " no fluff, no feathers." I smiled back reassuringly.

I followed Nikolai Konstantinovich, in my immaculately pressed school uniform, snow-white shirt, and new pioneer tie, as I stomped along the Kremlin corridors and looked around curiously. On the walls hung portraits of various figures of the revolution and civil war, generals and marshals of the great Patriotic war. All the doors that opened into the corridor were high and massive, the dark parquet floors were covered with red paths, dark green curtains completed the style of the late Soviet Empire, people in the corridors were almost empty. On the way, we once took the Elevator and soon came to the door, which was attached a sign "Minister of internal Affairs of the USSR Shchelokov Na."

When I went into the office through the spacious reception area, with the major jumping up from the table, I finally saw the first familiar face. In the huge Ministerial office were Churbanov and two assistants with the rank of Lieutenant colonels. Yuri Mikhailovich met my pioneer persona very cordially, got up from one of the chairs with a friendly smile, shook hands, then put his arm around me and sat down next to me in a chair, poured me tea with his own hands. From the looks of his subordinates, I realized that their waiter's boss rarely pretends to be a waiter.

Therefore, when answering questions about business and health, I did not forget to remind you how cleverly Churbanov caught my falling carcass at the competition:

- the Doctor then said so: "Say thank you to the General who caught you, we can easily mend your side, but with a broken head, you don't know how everything would turn out."

Churbanov smiled flatteringly and patted me on this very "surviving" head.

Five minutes later, I again cheekily called him "uncle Yura", sat with everyone around a small tea table, crunched dried fruits, washed them down with sweet and fragrant tea, and entertained the policemen with "thematic" jokes:

- Hello, police, help! "What's the matter with you?" "There are two girls fighting over me!" - Young man, what exactly is the problem? - So ugly wins!

Everyone laughs merrily. Without taking a long break I continued:

- And I managed to deceive a policeman yesterday! "How?" "I'm just sitting around the corner in need, and he's right there, yelling,' stop it and hide it!" "What about you?" - And then I deceived him, hid him, but did not stop!

They laugh even louder. Obviously, you haven't heard of them before. Decided to finish off:

- a Schoolboy found a million rubles and handed over the find to the police. Sobbing mother claims to be f*****g proud of her son!

A second of hopeless struggle with themselves and a wild cackle in three tinned throats. A startled major looks in from the waiting room, wiping away chumps ' tears, waves to him, and he disappears. Finally, everyone calms down and Churbanov, making a serious face, says:

- Vitya, it's not good to swear.

I answer with an anecdote:

- Mom, I met a great guy, he doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, doesn't swear! Mother thoughtfully asks: - aren't you bored with him, my daughter?

They don't have the energy to laugh anymore, so all three of them just giggle.

In fact, I noticed one thing long ago. At this time, all the jokes do not seem funny. And not only jokes: I watched a couple of programs on TV "Around laughter" - it's not funny at all. Once, the three of us-my mother and grandfather-watched a TV concert by Arkady Raikin, they almost died of laughter, and after twenty minutes I was almost sick. A goat's voice with idiotic diction, deliberately stupid appearance and completely stupid "humor". At the same time, I perfectly remembered with what impatience, in my first childhood, I waited for Raikin's performance in TV concerts, as he was mega-popular, bold and loved by the public. Mdya...

Recently, my mother's friends came to tea and chat, so one of them decided to tell a fresh joke. At first they tried to find out among themselves if I could listen to it, since it wasn't very decent, but then they let me stay, and I got used to the subtle modern humor. The friend began to explain:

"A well-dressed man walks into a nice cafe. The waiter informs him that there are no available tables, and he can only give him a lift at the already occupied ones. A man is lucky and he is put to a lonely pretty woman. He thinks for a long time about how to start a conversation, then notices the lady's cut on the sleeve of the dress and asks: "Can you tell me why You have a slit on the sleeve of your dress?" The lady responds coquettishly: "It's to make your hand comfortable to kiss." The man exclaims in surprise: - " Wow?! I've been working as a conductor for twenty years and I didn't know why there was a cut in the back of my tailcoat!"

The anecdote is a stunning success. The friends burst into a long, sincere laugh. I laugh along with everyone, but, in fact, I'm freaking out from the memories: indeed, at that time in Soviet restaurants it was considered the norm to put strangers at an already occupied table.