Red Star

Chapter 23

As I sprawled in the back of the Volga that took me home, I thought idly: "Too many events in the last five days. I was tired emotionally and physically, so I had such an uneven conversation with Romanov. His interest in me is primitive and mundane - a couple of popular songs for Senchina and "thank you, boy!" And I would have to f**k his main ally. Neither lye Nor Churbanov will be able to become leaders of the state. I don't know anyone else. So only Romanov. At least for now. So we will please the uncle, through the aunt... Fie... I wish I could figure out what song to cook for her. I remembered the "small country" right away, and then I'll have to think about it - search the Internet."

I had an "explanation" with Lech on Thursday. We went home from the station first, and then the major took my mother to work on the Volga. Lech and I went for a ride around the city, since he had a day off. First, we had a hearty Breakfast in a cafe at Pulkovo airport, since we didn't find any other catering points working at such an early time. There, between scrambled eggs and cheesecakes, I told Lech about my "Moscow adventures", struck the young guy's imagination with a picture of hunting with the General Secretary, and finally finished him off with the message that deep changes for the better might soon occur in his fate. I read infinite gratitude in Lehi's eyes.

After Breakfast, we drove to the Harbor ,and on the way, I had no trouble telling a story about the treasures stored there. In my version, everything looked simple and almost harmless: riding with friends in Repino on a sled, we witnessed a fire. A large wooden house was burning, and while the firemen were putting it out, we learned from the local residents who ran away that this was the house of a General who died about a year ago. There are no heirs and no one to report the fire to. A couple of days later, out of pure curiosity, I wandered into the homeless ashes and, in a pile of wood from an unburned woodpile, I saw something metal. It turned out to be an iron box in which money, gold and weapons were hidden. I threw the box away, and the riches I found are now hidden in our hangar.

At the traffic light, Lech turned to me and, looking into my eyes, asked:

- is This all true?

Also, looking into his eyes, I "honestly" answered:

- From the first to the last word!

- And why you in militia didn't hand over, this same all, it seems stolen, let in Germany, but stolen? Yes, and resold the General, it seems, otherwise where so much Soviet money ... - perplexed, asked Lech.

"Why didn't you pass?" - "thoughtfully" I repeated , - for many reasons, Lyosha, but the main one is the one that we have already talked about once. I want to do something good, something useful... and if I have to work all my life to eat myself and feed my family, then I probably won't have enough time for everything else. And who does it all belong to? Of the Soviet Union? These trinkets never belonged to the Soviet Union. The rich of former Nazi Germany? Or the ones they stole it from? Legally, all this stuff is nobody's. And after the death of the General who stole it all, even more so. So I decided to keep everything.

After my hot speech, we drove in silence for a while. I felt that Lech did not agree with me, but did not argue, because I was infinitely grateful for the conversation about him with Brezhnev.

I decided to put in this conversation, if not a dot, then at least an ellipsis:

"Let's do this... For now, we will carry out what we have planned, and then time will tell how to dispose of these "treasures of flint".

Lech silently nodded. Further conversation did not go well, and the rest of the way to the "Harbor", we drove in silence. Just before arriving at the pier, Lech said:

- Well, time will tell. Just keep in mind... I won't give up anyway.

"I know," I said calmly.

03.06.78, Saturday (my 104th day in the USSR)

Yesterday, when I returned from a meeting with Romanov, I had a pleasant surprise waiting for me at home. At work, my mother, in addition to the main vacation in August, was given another "at her own expense" in July, for the treatment and recuperation of the "heroic son"! So I have about a month to complete all the business in the city. From my mother's offer to send me to a pioneer camp or sanatorium for June, I rejected the fact that I need to write a song for Senchina.

- You will be able to write another one? my mother asked cautiously, for whom the "Small country"was a big surprise.

"I guess I can. I sometimes come up with poems that just sit down and write them down, and sometimes I have to squeeze them out. In any case, no one in the camp will let me write in peace, and I have already promised Romanov.

My mother shook her head in concern and sighed heavily. I had to calm down and promise that everything will be fine...

So on Saturday morning, I locked myself in a room and began to "create". Well, to be more precise, then look in the vastness of the Runet, what could be given out by Senchina, as the second song.

However, reality decided to disrupt my "creative" plans. First, a police captain rang the doorbell and delivered me a package from Churbanov. In a thick gray envelope with the coat of arms and the menacing inscription "Ministry of internal Affairs of the USSR", there was a note from Churbanov, two trips to Sochi to the sanatorium of the Ministry of internal Affairs "Iskra" and a bundle of photos.

In a handwritten note, Churbanov wrote:

"Vitya, Hello! How is your health, I hope everything is already in order?! I'm sending trips to the sanatorium for you and your mother. The dates are open, so when you decide on a trip, let my office know. The issue of tickets will also be resolved there. I attached a photo from a meeting with N. A. Shch., he liked you, and he remembers about the promised song! On Monday in "Time" there will be a story from the award ceremony. Hi mom! Yuri Churbanov"

The photos turned out great! Especially one where the impudent me squeezed between two "celestials" and hugged both of them by the waist. They both laughed in surprise, and I made a funny face at first. It turned out really cute and funny! And the photographer did not miss the moment.

The message about the program "Time" excited me, but the reminder about the song, rather pleased than strained. I already knew what I would give to the Minister. I was also happy with the trips. Although every year in the summer, my mother took me to Lazarevskaya-a cozy resort village near Sochi.

My mother, contrary to expectations, was upset by Churbanov's letter:

- Why do you promise unwritten songs to everyone right and left?! If it worked once, it doesn't necessarily work again. You here in the program "Time" will be shown, and suddenly you will not keep your word, how will you look people in the eye

later?! Don't worry, I've almost come up with a "police" song. We'll put it on tape soon, and I'll play you a rough draft. I told you everything would be fine!

Mom sighed and looked at the photos again. Thankfully, a few minutes later, she was smiling again.

As soon as the discussion of the MVD envelope had subsided and I sat down at the table again, the phone rang.

Senchina Called. She was very friendly and asked me when I could drive up to listen to a song performed by her with an orchestra.

I blurted out that "at least today", counting on the safety of Saturday, for which I paid with an invitation to 15 o'clock on Vasilevsky.

After that, there was nothing else to do but call Lech and ask about his plans. Fortunately, Lech was free and, moreover, intended to be idle. So I rewrote a couple of texts, listened to the original performance several times, using headphones, and after an hour and a half I was sitting in the room of the gathering Lehi.

Lech, fumbling in the bowels of an old and monumental Cabinet, told me that he had received a letter from a friend-colleague from Vladivostok and that he would come to visit him in a couple of weeks.

- We were called "twins" in the company, - Lehi's voice came from the closet, - so they don't look like a face, but they are tall and big, Yes! Moreover, both blondes...

"Wow, it turns out there is another blond Terminator..." I thought, and asked:

- Leh, what's there in the closet doing?

- Sandals you are looking for in the car is already hot in boots...

I imagined the face of Beavis when he will appear Leh sandals on his bare feet and prepared to read the last Express-a lecture on style, when my attention was attracted by well-recognized, the sound of a fallen object.

- Lyosha, what did you drop there? - insinuating interest.

- Found it! - Lech got out of the closet triumphantly shaking some kind of squalor from a thick sole and brown leather straps, - Ah... it's a guitar, it's not terrible-my "brother" waved away, happy with the find.

"Yours or my uncle's," I said.

- Mine, with me all service passed, from the house still with itself took. I've been missing something lately, I didn't feel like singing.

- And I, not fate, was to say that you can play the guitar?! I yelled indignantly.

Lech, not understanding the reason for my indignation, blinked in confusion, continuing to hold in his hands the misunderstanding of the Skorokhod factory or some similar one.

- Well, - I was sorry to swear on the big and good, but not too insightful friend - try sandals for jeans, you know what is pathetic, put on your sneakers and go...

Already something, and guiltily glancing at me, Leh appreciated your appearance in the mirror, I changed the shoes to sneakers, picked up a guitar, and we went to my house.

I quickly popped home, grabbed Churbanov's gift - a single-cassette little "Sonka", kissed my mother and jumped down the stairs. It was only an hour and a half before the meeting with Senchina, and I wanted to try to record a song in time...

***

Anatoly Samuilovich met us like family!

"Eka Romanov f****d you!" - I thought gloatingly.

Senchina was smiling and even.

This time we were taken to a large but shabby hall, where about thirty musicians were sitting on the stage.

A concert orchestra, whose musicians are not dressed in tailcoats, looks unusual and funny! They played at random, then Beavis climbed up on the dais with the music stand, tapped it with his wand, and looked back at Senchina, who was already standing with the microphone:

..."Where it's always spring... Where there is always spring..." - Senchina stopped, the last sounds of the orchestra sounded.

From the singer's satisfied look and Beavis's businesslike frown, it was obvious that they were both satisfied. Judging by the elbow poke received from Lehi, the "spectator" was also impressed. I was in shock... The song turned out to be similar to the original only remotely, the music sounded gray and dull. Senchina was good, but one song "didn't pull out".

- What do you say, "colleague"? Beavis couldn't help but be sarcastic.

- Very good, Anatoly Samuilovich! Almost great ... " my tone contrasted sharply with the content of the answer, "just add the finishing touches and it will be great without"almost".

Beavis's face began to turn red, his lips began to tremble, and he hissed like a snake:

" what can I 'contribute'?!

- you Can not contribute anything, but then this music will sound without my poems, " I replied serenely.

The stunned faces of the musicians showed that no one dared to talk to the Maestro like that. Senchina fiddled with the microphone wire and bit her lip nervously.

Beavis stared at me for a couple of minutes, clearly fighting the urge to strangle me. Finally, he got over the volcano of emotions that was bubbling inside and asked in a rather even tone the essence of the proposed "touches"...

My heroic attempts to make the music more similar to the original lasted more than three hours. I recalled the sound of the song "my time" and tried to get something similar from the orchestra. Some of my wishes, expressed by artistic grunting and waving of hands, Beavis simply did not understand, others were realized with a half-sound. A couple of musical moves I voiced aroused his suspicions of my hidden genius, so Beavis continued to help my efforts sincerely and conscientiously.

Around seven in the evening, when everyone was completely exhausted, Beavis announced to the musicians:

- Break, we will play the final game in 10 minutes...

Beavis went down to the hall and sat down wearily in the next chair. By this time, I finally realized that nothing else could be improved. It's just that today's musical instruments, despite the presence of even electronic ones in the orchestra, cannot give the sound of the 21st century.

Senchina I also suggested a couple of intonations and accents in the performance, as a result, the final run gave a result that was already able to satisfy me and cause recognition of Beavis:

- And yet, Victor, you need to get a musical education and not bury your abilities in the ground.

- Perhaps, Anatoly Samuilovich, but there is simply no time for this yet. By the way, here the Minister of internal Affairs Shchelokov asked me to write a song for the police Day...

Beavis's face fell.

- We recorded the draft version on a tape recorder, we need to make an orchestration for listening to the Ministry of internal Affairs, can you help?

"Of course, of course..."

The four of us went to the hall where we first met. Lech took a tape recorder out of his bag, put it on the piano and turned it on. The recording we made directly in the "Moskvich", Lech played guitar, I sang:

High-Aah, wiiiso-Aah over earth-eey s-iinew,

This peaceful Naboo over Rodinoi,

But simple and strangeeee keysym words:

"Combat. Awards. Order..."

I, without further hesitate, typed in "google": "songs about the police" and as a result of midnight listening, I chose three songs. One of them was muranowska "Combat is awarded with the order". In the comments, it was said that it was written for the anniversary of the police on the order, allegedly, of Shchelokov himself, but after the disgrace of the Minister, it remained unclaimed. Then it was promptly dedicated to Afghanistan. Well, let's restore what is called justice!

When the last chord of Lech's guitar sounded, I turned off the tape recorder.

"I see," Beavis said matter - of - factly, without expressing his attitude to the song itself. He clasped his hands in prayer and we all laughed.

Senchina went to guide Lech and me through the maze of corridors. She came out with us into the street and, throwing her head up to the sky, stopped, enjoying the fresh air. A dreamy smile played on her lips, and a light breeze played with the hem of her light dress.

"Ahem, take care of your teeth on someone else's loaf!" - I laughed mentally, - " we must, we must, we must urgently get someone for our beloved!".

Lech went to warm up the car, and I was so carried away by thoughts about the dangers of s****l starvation during teenage hypersexuality that I even shuddered when I caught Senchina's attentive gaze.

"Vitya, I wanted to talk to you," she began.

If Beavis addressed me as "you" from the very beginning, Senchina said "you". Something made her change her manner of communication, okay-remember. I feigned complete attention.

- I see that you are a talented young man and I think that you have a great future. I'm like a singer... very dependent on the quality of the songs that... I have to do it. That's why I really want them to appear in my repertoire... modern songs that meet what is in demand... by listeners of my generation... - Senchina, with obvious difficulty this tirade was given, she carefully chose her words.

- Are you tired of singing half-childish songs and performing known dregs, but you want something popular and tearful about love and suffering? I asked, blinking innocently.

Senchina choked, and then laughed:

"Well, you can say that, of course!

- I promised Grigory Vasilyevich that I would write such a song for you. I'll try to make it in a couple of weeks, since I'm going to the sea at the beginning of July. I'm sure it will become popular.

Obviously, Senchina didn't hear exactly what she wanted to hear. The mention that I would write a song only at Romanov's request made her shudder. But I wasn't going to allow them to build a relationship that bypassed Romanov. We said our goodbyes rather dryly, I plopped down in the seat next to Lech, and we drove home.