Red Star

Chapter 22

We arrived at the hotel around eight in the evening, and Churbanov personally went to hand me over to my mother, who had been overexcited all day. After lingering in the room for fifteen minutes, he described to my mother my success in hunting and Leonid Ilyich's kind attitude to "Vityusha", and then invited us to dinner.

To my surprise, we didn't go anywhere, but just went down to the first floor, to the hotel restaurant. The appearance of the Deputy Minister in the restaurant caused a shock to most of those present and, clearly, discouraged many of the appetite and desire to relax in the evening on a business trip.

Churbanov, not paying any attention to anyone, gallantly sat my mother down at a table and made an order to the administrator who came running. It took me about fifteen minutes to realize that Yuri Mikhailovich was unobtrusively "pushing wedges" at my mother. At first I was confused, not knowing how to react, and then I thought that my "reaction" is hardly needed by anyone, including myself, and just focused on the delicious hodgepodge. A long stay in the air, nerves and a kaleidoscope of events caused, in the end, just a wild appetite.

At the next table, the driver, Kolya, and a Lieutenant Colonel, another assistant to Churbanov, were having dinner (I was already surprised at such a democratic attitude).

The number of visitors to the restaurant was decreasing before our eyes, apparently many "rounded off from sin". They turned on the music in the hall - Joe Dassin was singing softly, and after a while, the Director of the restaurant appeared, probably, subordinates pulled out of the house by a phone call. Along with the Director who introduced himself, French cognac and fruit appeared on the table.

The cognac passed me again, but the oranges and apples did not intoxicate me... Otherwise, the evening was a success, and after sitting in the restaurant for a couple of hours, we began to say goodbye. Churbanov's assistant handed my mother tickets to Leningrad, as well as to the Red arrow ,and a marked business card for work. The tickets were for tomorrow night, and Yuri Mikhailovich kindly provided us with a company car for the whole day - "to see Moscow," as he put it. Oh, it's good to have a familiar General in the USSR, especially if he is a Deputy interior Minister! That was the end of it...

However, it was not possible to "see Moscow" right away. At about 10 am, the phone rang in the room, Churbanov called with the message that the Minister of Internal Affairs of the USSR, Nikolai Anisimovich Shchelokov, wanted to meet with my person and asked for an audience. Just kidding!

In short, I have 30 minutes to brush my teeth and put on my pants!

Indeed, exactly half an hour later, another Lieutenant Colonel knocked on the door of the room, and half an hour later I was already in front of Brezhnev's most loyal "silovik".

Back in Leningrad, I read everything possible about Shchelokov on the Internet. In a ratio of 9 to 1, only good things were written about him. I was only surprised by Churbanov, who in his memoirs "My father - in-law-Leonid Brezhnev" spoke about his boss very restrained and with some hostility. However, I had my own version of it. In General, I was slightly surprised that the interior Minister completely ignored me. It is clear that "the swell is not great", but still Brezhnev himself showed attention... But everything turned out to be easier, while they were going to Shchelokov, Yuri Mikhailovich said that his boss had just returned from a business trip to Hungary yesterday. And today he wanted to see me.

And now I was standing in front of a short, rather pleasant-looking man in a stylish dark blue suit. Shchelokov came out from behind the Desk and walked towards me with a smile, through his huge office:

- Hello, hero!

- Hello, Nikolai Anisimovich!

- What, you wanted to leave Moscow without even getting acquainted? - joked, yet, the all-powerful Minister.

"Oh, no," I said, flattering myself, " it's a great honor to meet you. I've heard a lot of good things about You.

"From whom?" - interested in Liquor.

- My friend's dad is a policeman, he once told me how everything changes for the better in the police, with Your arrival-I easily lied. Who will check, and the person is pleased.

Indeed, the Minister laughed contentedly and, putting his arm around me, led me to a large window, near which there were chairs and a low table. When the three of us were seated, a plump aunt in a white lace apron came noiselessly into the study, wheeling a table on wheels, smiling, placed cups of tea and sweets on the table, and without a word went to the door.

"Thank you, tonechka," Shchelokov said to her back.

- Enjoy your tea! - the fat girl "tonechka" turned around and smiled charmingly at everyone.

While we were drinking tea, the Minister asked me in detail about my "feat", was interested in my health, and instructed Churbanov to send me and my parents to a departmental sanatorium in Sochi, "to improve my health after the hospital." I sincerely thanked him. Nikolai Anisimovich also asked me where I was going to go after school. For five minutes he praised the higher school of the Ministry of internal Affairs, it was clear that he was very proud of his brainchild.

We also talked about "my work". Knowing from the Internet that Shchelokov is friendly with many cultural figures, patronizes them, and even draws well himself, I gave out:

- I wanted to become an artist, but I have no talent, so I started writing songs!

Shchelokov laughed and replied:

"I also wanted to draw, but I also have no talent, so I work as a Minister," the three of us laughed, and then Churbanov told us in detail what wonderful landscapes Nikolai Anisimovich paints. He did not interrupt the Deputy, only smiled shyly, listening to his talent.

- I heard that you wrote a good March for the military, and maybe you will write a song for the police? - finally, Shchelokov turned the conversation to a much more interesting topic for me.

- I will write, Nikolai Anisimovich, - I agreed complaisantly - I generally believe that people who protect our daily peace and receive military orders in peacetime are worthy only of the best songs.

Shchelokov nodded in agreement. Churbanov smiled approvingly.

- But I live in Leningrad with my mother, how can I convey a song? - I "turned on" the fool.

- And you will call me and I will invite you to Moscow, to visit, - the Minister laughed.

- Well, then I will try to write as quickly as possible, so that on November 10 it can already be performed, - I began to "forge while it's hot".

- The main thing is not fast, but good! Schelokov said moralizingly.

"I'm not too shy to write," I said with an extremely serious smile.

Everyone laughed again.

At parting, Shchelokov handed me his business card, gave me a large and colorful photo album about the police with a donation inscription, and, brought by the duty officer, a hefty box with a German toy railway!

I depicted unearthly delight on my face, jumped up and started hugging a laughing and happy Shchelokov. And when he asked me what else I would like, I didn't hesitate to ask them to take a photo together.

"Ah," the Minister complained, " I'm not in uniform today.

"Why the uniform?" - "I don't understand" - I want to be with a man, not with a uniform!

Shchelokov and Churbanov laughed again, and the photographer, who appeared five minutes later, "snapped" the three of us several times in the Ministerial office...

... I said goodbye to Churbanov at the entrance of the Ministry. Yuri Mikhailovich came out to escort me to the Volga, where the Minister's gift was being Packed in the trunk. Churbanov also did not leave me without a gift and handed me an imported cassette recorder.

- Thank you very much, Yuri Mikhailovich! - unlike the useless railway, I was actually happy with the tape recorder, but I decided to change everything - and, especially, for the railway, I always dreamed of such a thing!

- Well, this is a gift from the Minister, - smiled Churbanov.

"Yeah, sure... I muttered under my breath, but so that Churbanov could hear.

He heard me, looked at me carefully, laughed and shook his finger. But it was clear that my guesswork not only surprised, but also sincerely pleased.

Finally, my hand was shaken one last time and I was sent to the hotel.

My mother and I spent the rest of the day driving around Moscow.on the last day of spring, the weather in the capital was warm and Sunny. We also paid attention to some Moscow stores and had lunch with the driver in a cafe at VDNH.

During the trip, I just enjoyed "Moscow without traffic jams"! Transport, you can say, almost was not, go where and how you want! The driver obediently complied with all my requests, turned around across Tverskaya, which is now Gorky street, drove directly into the territory of VDNH and drove along the paths of the Botanical garden. My mother looked at my "lawlessness" in surprise, but did not pull it off, enjoying the "Moscow vacation"herself. For traffic police inspectors, our car was either "invisible", or they just trumped.

The final exclamation mark that day was placed on the train. The leadership of the Ministry of internal Affairs was generous with a soft car! It was the thirtieth time in my life that I went to SV, and my mother's first...

But I was too hasty with my summing up. On the platform in Leningrad, we were met by Lech with a Moskvich ,and a police captain with a black Volga. Churbanov took care of transport here as well.

"Thank you very much, Yuri Mikhailovich! Here is only would understand, such signs attention more me or mother?!"Heh...

"In good memory. leonid brezhnev"

I look at the engraving on the gold-edged blade of a hunting knife. In my right hand I hold a heavy and almost entirely gilded scabbard. Opensource projects, eh... A Royal gift, nothing to say. While it is understandable - in English, but perederina under the horse's tail don't look!

A few minutes ago, a field communications officer rang the doorbell of our apartment and handed me, wrapped in brown paper and sealed with sealing wax, a small plywood container containing a velvet box with a hunting knife and a thick snow-white envelope with photos from the Kremlin. I was forced to sign the receipt, but the officer's mother's signature, offered out of habit, did not satisfy me.

"Will this knife be considered a weapon?" my mother, who was sitting next to me, asked warily.

- Such an engraving is already a permit for any weapon-I woke up from looking at the gift.

My mother shook her head, both pleased and frightened by what was happening.

Then we studied the photos: the quality is wonderful, photographed by a real master. However, how could it be otherwise? The subjects consistently reflected everything that happened at the ceremony: Brezhnev talks to me - we both smile; I" inspiringly " read poetry; Brezhnev hugs me; Brezhnev attaches a medal to a school jacket; Brezhnev, me, my mother and Churbanov; a group portrait of the awardees with the General Secretary - Leonid Ilyich holds his hand on my shoulder. In General, it's time to start a special photo album! It is a pity there are no photos from hunting, there we were also "clicked", but the "informal" of the powerful, apparently, does not go to the side - not those times yet.

Just returned to the interrupted Breakfast, as, this time, distracted by the phone. He darted to the phone:

- Hello! I'm listening ...

- Victor? Hello there! This Is Viktor Zhulebin...

- Hello, Viktor Mikhailovich! - I imitate the joy of recognizing Romanov's assistant, who was traveling with us in the "Arrow" to Moscow.

- Hello, Hello, hero! How are you, how did you go to the capital?

- Thank you! It's okay! "You don't know," I add mentally.

- Great! Grigory Vasilyevich would like to meet you. Today at 17 o'clock I'll pick you up at home?

- Of course, Viktor Mikhailovich! I will be waiting for you...

"I'm so alone in this world... and popular only in a very narrow circle ... members of the Politburo! Heh!.."

"That's a lousy little bugger," Romanov swore without malice.

We were sitting on the verandah of Romanov's obkom dacha on Kamenny island, drinking tea from a gilded samovar that glittered in the evening sun. I just told Romanov about how quickly Anatoly Beavis became my "co-author" of the music for the song "Little country", which caused such a low-tolerance statement of the"master of Leningrad".

"You can never change them, they're such a tribe... Romanov muttered under his breath, looking out into the garden.

We sat together. At first I was surprised that Romanov had sent his assistants away, and Zhulebin and the second assistant, whom no one thought it necessary to introduce to me, were also surprised, I think, but they left the verandah without a murmur. But then everything became clear. Romanov was interested in two questions: my trip to Moscow and my reluctance to continue working with the Beavis-senchin couple.

I told him all about Moscow in detail, but if Romanov probably knew more or less exactly about my communication with Brezhnev, then my meeting with Shchelokov was news to him. Although he did not attach much importance to it. Well, outwardly, at least, he didn't show it. He just asked me if I had already started writing the song "for the police".

- I've already started, Grigory Vasilyevich, it even turns out two! One is solemn, and the second is already slightly humorous...

- you look, - Romanov warned-Shchelokov has a good sense of humor, but he does not understand jokes about his Department, he may be offended.

"Thanks for the warning, I'll try not to overdo it," I laughed.

"Try, try," Romanov said grumpily, and reached for a bowl of dried poppies. In General, I noticed that drying is a universal dish for tea for high-ranking Soviet leaders.

- I'll put Beavis in his place - don't worry, my suggestion will last him for a long time, - Romanov smiled disgustedly and thought.

I did not hesitate, pulled a couple of dryers from the vase and crunched, under the surprisingly fragrant and delicious tea.

- Lyudmila Petrovna said that you actually wrote a good song...

- yeah, you wrote... actually a good one... I nodded and started on the second drying.

Romanov looked at me and chuckled:

- do you Want to be a composer and poet?

- No... but so far, Yes... - I got smart.

"What do you mean?" Romanov was surprised.

- Well, I still want to write songs, but I don't plan to devote my whole life to this.

- Clearly. We should write something else for Lyudmila Petrovna, because she is now the most popular of the Leningrad singers, and there are problems with the repertoire, everything decent is at odds in Moscow among those there. Beavis won't be a problem anymore, and you can tell me what you need from me.

"You don't need anything, Grigory Vasilyevich. Your request is enough. I'll write again.

Romanov stared at me intently. I pretended not to notice his gaze as I sipped tea from a large white porcelain Cup and stared out at the well-tended garden.

The pause dragged on. Romanov looked at me while I drank my tea. Finally, the owner of the city, mockingly said:

- do not need anything At all?! Well, at least thank you, " and again he stared at me expectantly.

- Yes, you're welcome, Grigory Vasilyevich, I'm always happy to be of service to You. I stood up and looked at Romanov expectantly, pretending to say good-bye.

- Set. You haven't been released yet. Romanov frowned and looked less than friendly.

I plopped back into the soft, comfortable chair and stared at The first Secretary of the regional Committee.

"You stop playing roly - poly here, you're too young..." Romanov said irritably. - Do not need any support, no musicians, or someone who, at least, your mumbling on the notes will shift? "what is it?" he asked, not without a sneer. - Will you have time to write a song by the next five-year plan?

I calmly and very friendly replied on all points:

- I don't need support, I write alone. Beavis has musicians - a whole orchestra. He will also shift the melody to the notes, he has already done this once and, As you yourself said, there will be no problems with it. I'll write the song in a couple of weeks. I will try to make it so that Senchina will be included in the "Song of the year"with her.

"You're aiming high," Romanov muttered, still annoyed, but already cooling down.

- So it's not difficult for a good song to be there, but I'm not going to write a bad one. That's why I don't need anything. At least until I do what I promised.

"At least?" Romanov mimicked.

I smiled apologetically.

Romanov also grinned and asked sarcastically:

"and then what will you ask for?" I can see you're a good guy! I noticed this at the competition. I'll have to keep my eyes open with you, or you'll leave me with no pants on.

- Well, what Are you, Grigory Vasilyevich, - I feigned horror, - how will You be without your pants?!

the ice of alienation that Suddenly appeared melted, Romanov laughed, and I followed him.

- My idea is the simplest, - I began , - I want to create a modern youth group, whose songs will be sung not only in our country, but also in the West. I want us to have the best not only sports, the army, ballet and space, but also songs. So that not we-to their music, but they - to our music. That's when I'll need everything you've listed. And now something to ask, while I did nothing and showed nothing to anyone-stupid, impudent and "tiny" - I could not resist in the end.

Romanov laughed again, and then, this time seriously, said:

"Well, write and prove it... then we'll see what we can do for you, because "well-wishers" like you quickly appear...