Rinat valiullin solo on one key fb2. Rinat valiullin - solo on one key
Dedicated to my father...
Valiullin R. R., 2015
© Antology LLC, 2015
Part 1
My gaze rested on the TV, which was opposite. I tried the news, not finding anything new in them, switched to the sea, there was some kind of movie where a couple basked on the beach:
- I love the south. It has always been easier with women in the south: you don’t have to give fur coats, and the sea is nearby,” he lay next to a pretty woman, resting his elbow on the sand and looking at her through dark glasses.
“Yeah, tell me more and the goods are always on the face,” she turned the beach to the other side, exposing her face to the sun.
- Are you going far? - the girl stopped his hand, which moved from the waist to her chest.
- No, to orgasm and back.
Intimacy at 11.00 seemed too early to me, I deprived the heroes of the voice and looked up. There was a painting by a contemporary artist, which I once bought in the gallery opposite, but not because of a great passion for art, I just wanted to hide the unevenness on the wall. As soon as I hung it, the wall really ceased to be nervous, and I worked more calmly, however, with its appearance in life, metamorphoses began to occur. I didn’t remember the name of the artist, but the title stuck: “Yin and Yang. Pigeon mail "- a sky streaked with wires and two doves on one of the lines. These lines broke the heights into pieces of different colors. Of course, it was about the connection of the two, via the Internet or telephone. The sky was like a quilt, a blanket woven from various pieces that wanted to hide, in which I would not mind spending this morning.
I didn’t feel like working, I got up, stretched, made several swings with my arms, but I didn’t take off. Went to the window. The sun was the most capricious of all domestic animals. Today it did not love us again, no matter how much we adore it. It didn't work. It's windy, wet and nasty outside. Autumn - what an injustice: while you want to depend on your loved one, you depend on the weather.
Maxim again turned up the sound of the film and sat down in a chair. The cinema did not touch, for the summer it lacked passion, for relationships - whims. From time to time, instead of looking at the box, the eye rested on the picture. He realized that it was more pleasant for him to look at her than at the screen, although it might be less informative at first glance, because at the second one there was something to think about. Pictures to inspire. Neither TV nor his picture could inspire anything. Yes, and what can inspire an artificial eye that blinked advertising once again, except to suck out the remnants of time and positive emotions, especially if they covered events in the world that drive you even further, into the thick of autumn.
I switched the program, the news was on, and the TV went back to black and white. Switched to canvas. The doves cooed.
I also wanted to poke around. I called Katya.
- Coffee? Katya asked, pushing loneliness out of the space of my office.
Katya, could you turn off the TV?
“Well, you’re completely already, Maxim Solomonovich,” the white blouse, black jacket and pink skirt were indignant in chorus. "Why is the skirt pink?" - I had a dream of the same color.
- Maybe I'm testing you in the role of a submissive wife? I was still looking at her, slumped in my chair.
– It doesn’t fit into any framework, – still looking at me with bewilderment, she took the remote control from the table, and the pupil went out.
- I'm talking about the painting. Do you like her, Katya? I wanted to say, is there a difference where to look: on TV or on a picture?
“I don’t watch TV at all. Box for the elderly.
- Seriously? I felt myself lagging behind life. - Am I that old? I reloaded my jacket on my shoulders.
- Not yet, but keep looking there.
– I could bring coffee more often.
“Look better at the picture,” Katya knew that if the boss switched to “you”, then either he was uneasy, or he was angry.
“Well, what kind of modesty, I could say - look better at me, Maxim. I would watch then, maybe more often, maybe not only watch. Although it would be wrong: a man, if he really wants a woman, pays attention himself. Or have I become so lazy and boring?
- It also has to be turned off from time to time. By the way, where is the remote control?
- From whom?
- From the picture.
Katya did not understand humor, it was beyond her feelings. “How often a sense of humor remains in the shadow of other feelings while it is a source of oxygen for mood. A sense of humor is the very savior that does not allow self-esteem to conquer your entire inner world, ”I wanted to read Katya a moral, but I restrained myself. Perhaps the only thing that united us was bouts of modesty, when words stumble, afraid to come out, and get stuck in the throat. I rarely made compliments so as not to embarrass or seduce. She smiled forcefully.
“Maybe you should really make coffee for you, Maksim Solomonovich?”
What, he's not ready yet? And it looks like such a serious drink.
- As always? - Katya asked, automatically, knowing full well that if there was no sun, then three spoons of sugar could replace it instead of the usual two.
“I would really like to, more than ever, “but not with you, Katya,” I added to myself.
Soon the aroma of coffee was gently rubbing against my cheek.
In everyone's life there are periods of narration, when the atmosphere is tightened tightly with the prose of life, there is no dialogue around. That is, there are a lot of people, but there is no dialogue, because everyone carries his own, brings his own words: “Let them lie down with you, now you still have no one and it’s free, I’ll take it later on occasion.” You don't need a chance. You need something else, another, others, a few remarks, proposals, letters ... Constant, warming, encouraging, yours.
I have been in this menopause for quite some time now. Prose, prose, prose, like black soil. You can grow potatoes, but you want to cultivate a vineyard. However, he is capricious, he needs hollows, hills, valleys, if about the body, climate - if about the soul, relief - if about the mind.
* * *
Yin: Today, all day long, there was a need for you to kneel, and cuddle up to the bristle file. From the very morning, I just need a bed from your meat hugs, I want to dive there, kill with kisses the pallor of my lips and the dullness of everyday life. I know that of the evils of relationships, the most harmful: addiction - to be, a drug - together. I sat down godlessly, but what's with my knees. I am twisted, and I am trembling, carelessly covered with a hand, when memory itself is squeezing with expectation. My memory card is full of our kisses.
Yan: You see, they are torn beyond the framework. Norms, frames - this is what makes us normal, but there is one “but”, if I am normal, I will quickly get bored with you.
Yin: You're right: on the one hand, I really want madness, on the other, comfort.
Yan: What are you with now?
Yin: I'm taking a break. I'm drinking tea. And then to the side.
Yang: Just don't do stupid things to just anyone. I'm on my way to you, my love.
Yin: Are you still at work?
Yan: Yes.
Yin: I thought you already left. When will you be free?
Yan: I think I'll go soon. And what?
Yin: If you pass by, call. Maybe we'll get married.
Yan: Any reason?
Yin: Yes, I have duck in the oven.
Yan: Look, don't oversalt. To not turn out like last time.
Yin: How was it last time?
Yan: I kissed her lips and neck while she cried, so sensitive that any nonsense was ready to ruin her mood. After the tears, there was usually sex. She knew it, and I knew, continuing to console, eating away her skin with kisses, not understanding why it was so salty.
Yin: Great! Especially the last sentence. This time, don't even hope it won't rain.
Yan: Then I won't take an umbrella! You are my button.
Yin: Nuclear?
Yang: Dual core.
Yin: I feel something: lately my roof is going. I'm going crazy.
Yan: Wait, I'll go with you.
* * *
Three nights, and the city is quieter with gills, like a tired huge animal. He feeds on the spree of Nevsky Prospekt, the night hunting is coming to an end, there is less and less game in his reinforced concrete fangs, the proverb bleeds: dinosaurs are not born - they become them. The animal is slowly falling asleep. His powerful body washed away vehicles from the roads. There was noticeably less steam, more and more lonely travelers with beer in their hands, that's all the romance of the night, on the banks of the Neva, licked with marble lips. Under the light music of yellow traffic lights that flickered at the intersections with their indifference to traffic rules, I drove home. I could also fall asleep and become a prehistoric fossil, but the thoughts, damn them, like a thirst for nightlife, even the third eye does not close, Degrading, this is evolution, I feel a dinosaur in me, like a city in the night, I do too I don't sleep. I turned off the engine, took a bottle of beer out of my bag, and the moon swayed like a lone lamp. There was a square in front of the house, cut diagonally by asphalt. I found a point of view through the windshield watching a woman walk down the path. A woman is like a woman. I had to look somewhere. Suddenly, two shadows caught up with her, ripped the bag out of the ladies' wardrobe and rushed in my direction.
"Coward!" honor resounded quietly within me.
The woman squealed, cash figures flashed through her head after the fright, thoughts that she would now have to call the banks and block the cards, which is good, that there was not much cash, that she managed to pay the rent and school for her son yesterday. I took a sip as if it could stop them. Grabbed the doorknob to open the door and rush towards the evil. But then he stopped. I was given someone else's bag, with someone else's funds: there was no desire to throw beer and rush to cut across them. It’s good that the beer managed to cool my mind: firstly, everyone is alive, and secondly, I didn’t want to fight and die for someone’s money. "Coward!" – Shouted in me quietly honor. I just honked my horn to the criminals and blinked my headlights. They got scared, threw a piece of skin and disappeared. “Not bad, it was that rare case when light defeated darkness,” I felt like a superhero, straightened up, finished my beer and closed my eyes in pleasure. There were no kisses, there was not even applause. The frightened woman picked up hers and hurried away. I looked after her for a long time, until her excited body fell into the darkness of houses, apartments, where soon she dialed her friend’s number, excitedly talking about the incident and checking the contents of her purse, counting banknotes and happily finding credit cards among discount cards: the trump cards remained in her hands .
I should have gone home too, but I didn't want to. The street turned out to be the very place where now it was free, calm and warm. And at home, on tiptoe, you will have to look for parking with your ass and fall asleep to the grumbling of your wife. I hate to tiptoe in my house, where every rustle cuts consciousness, as if a piece of plaster is falling off from your personal self. And now, like a skeleton, silently rising from the grave of the night, you must do all your business in the dark in order to lie back. She will turn away from me as usual, I will try to hug my wife from behind and I will talk nonsense. I didn’t like it when she didn’t understand me, I didn’t want to explain to her why it took me so long to drive home, it would be a waste of time, although I started doing this mentally, as a rule, going upstairs in the elevator. I looked down at myself, my face filled with guilt. “You look tired,” I read in the reflection. “I know you are not to blame. Lucky?" “He was like that about him, about the look,” I tried to smile at my reflection, “now you can’t say, it’s unlikely that anyone will ever be able to sincerely love him.”
I didn’t find a place near the front door, I parked in front of the house, across the road. Opening the door, I got out of the car, clicked the alarm. The time for political thoughts came after gender: in fact, our system remained a slave-owning system, woven from profit and lust, industry and women. “You are a sexy machine,” I thought of my wife again. “If I were a mechanic, I would change some parts.” I didn't accept another challenge. The pedestrian crossing constantly repeated that it was allowed and literally right there - that it was completed. He chirped in a high voice in the night, hoisting his tricolor over a small island nation of walkers, it was a little uncomfortable, I don’t know what tormented me. Apparently, the indisposition of the fact that I did not get something today or in this life as a whole. The transition from youth to adulthood has just been allowed, and is now complete. It's like I didn't make it. And now I'm a grown man, sitting with a bottle of beer on the bench, absolutely alone. Instead of the sun - a lantern. I look at the float of my meaning of life, but it does not move, no matter how much you feed the goldfish. Even a roach, and she does not take. A pity, vobla now would not hurt. And it's not a matter of bait, a lot has been acquired, quite enough for a decent youth for their descendants. Speaking of my old age, I carefully looked at the ground, where a lone night ant rushed about in search of beer caps and khabariki. “As I understand you, it’s hard to quit both at the same time.” I quit smoking and started drinking. Not in a global sense, in the momentary. He stubbed out his cigarette and took out another bottle of beer.
Marina returned home, the thought “When will you come?” Obsessively spinning in her head, which she let go to hell after the second unaccepted call, at the feet of the cat: “I agree, he loves you more, but you are not there yet.” “I didn’t wait for you,” the schnitzel settled down in Marina’s stomach. She stuck a glass, half empty, into the table: “You can call me a pessimist, but there is wine in the glass, not just water.” She sat down at the computer, as if behind a wall, behind which she felt good, behind which she could calmly breathe, scratch her pubis on the keyboard, teasing the passers-by of her personal page. “You know what I would call you - comfort,” she felt uncomfortable without her husband. “I hope you remember, we were going to the cottage to the mushrooms this weekend,” she got up and walked around the living room.
She leaned against the glass of night, her forehead felt the coolness of the window, which, apparently, was going to spend the rest of the evening with her. A telephone in his hand, heavy earrings of long beeps in his ears. Isn't that an excuse to make yourself some tea? The tea was dull, monotonous, livery, porcelain.
* * *
- Where have you been?
“Where have you been, where have you been, where have you been, CDs of your questioning eyes are playing the same song, you want to control my elusive step, each of which is not even known to me. Why do you need it? You abandoned your life for this, look, it is bending without attention, not only you are lonely, ”I silently looked at my wife. She was in her repertoire, in her wardrobe. The only thing that brought us together now was that she, too, was a little out of her mind.
- Where have you been?
“Let me get out of my coat, leave my shoes, pants, pour in the warmth of the kitchen, along with tea, since yours is not there, and then ask around.”
- Where have you been? - for the third time my legal wife soloed.
“Where I am already empty, complete absence. Where was I? Who was I with? With some of the people passing by, with the city, with the sky, with the street, with beer, if you insist, I’ll tell you, just turn down the music of your boring record, ”recalled the very disk that is inserted into the lower lip of African women Mursi tribe. Even if this disc is already platinum, and a million sales have been made. Set your control shot on safety, I see you've been running wild here alone. Some go crazy when alone, to continue it together, nervously and dimly. Are we one of those too?
- You don't have to answer. I might not have come, - my wife waved her hand at me.
“I could, but I have a problem. To whom else can I turn with her, if not to you?
I noticed this as soon as we got married. What's the problem now?
“I began to feel you too thinly. Thinner than your summer dress falling off your shoulders. I know the dress has no ass, but it can sit, just as well exactly where I would prefer to lie, - I picked her up in my arms and kissed her chest. I swayed, and we almost fell right in the corridor. It's good that the walls. They kept this couple, this house, this marriage.
- You are drunk? - freed from my paws wife.
“I guess I don't know.
- You smell like beer.
- So what? Don't take it for vulgarity, but she touched the truth.
- Morality, like a cold governess, will guard my curiosity until you throw her dress with bait, only then will she evaporate.
“Three o’clock in the morning, if possible.
- Good. Perhaps we are not destined to die in one day, to nurse loud children in a spacious house. Today I am ready to serve as your shadow: languid, ruthless and dangerous: I will build a fire right on your heart from damp worries and pink coquetry.
It looks like a declaration of love. How long have you been wearing this?
- No, a week ago it stuck after the presentation of another book. Well, you remember.
“I remember when they brought you unconscious.
No, I had feelings.
- I think there was more alcohol. It's good that you didn't see how angry I was.
– Yes, it’s a pity… that I didn’t see it. I love it when you get mad, so sexy.
Did you drink a lot then?
- No, not really, but when I vomited, I thought: really in this life I had already drunk my own and didn’t get into me anymore, when I looked, I didn’t like anything, the body refused to explore life through your cuts, when I fell out of love, I thought, really in this life I could hate someone so much, I was sober, and you were pulling on pantyhose, - I began to compose on the go, giving my movements an even more drunken tone.
“Go to the bathroom and sleep,” commanded his wife.
- How is your mom? - I remembered that my mother-in-law started up in my house.
I hope he doesn't hear.
We slept exactly according to my scenario.
Rinat Valiullin
Solo on one key
Dedicated to my father...
Valiullin R. R., 2015
© Antology LLC, 2015
My gaze rested on the TV, which was opposite. I tried the news, not finding anything new in them, switched to the sea, there was some kind of movie where a couple basked on the beach:
- I love the south. It has always been easier with women in the south: you don’t have to give fur coats, and the sea is nearby,” he lay next to a pretty woman, resting his elbow on the sand and looking at her through dark glasses.
“Yeah, tell me more and the goods are always on the face,” she turned the beach to the other side, exposing her face to the sun.
- Are you going far? - the girl stopped his hand, which moved from the waist to her chest.
- No, to orgasm and back.
Intimacy at 11.00 seemed too early to me, I deprived the heroes of the voice and looked up. There was a painting by a contemporary artist, which I once bought in the gallery opposite, but not because of a great passion for art, I just wanted to hide the unevenness on the wall. As soon as I hung it, the wall really ceased to be nervous, and I worked more calmly, however, with its appearance in life, metamorphoses began to occur. I didn’t remember the name of the artist, but the title stuck: “Yin and Yang. Pigeon mail "- a sky streaked with wires and two doves on one of the lines. These lines broke the heights into pieces of different colors. Of course, it was about the connection of the two, via the Internet or telephone. The sky was like a quilt, a blanket woven from various pieces that wanted to hide, in which I would not mind spending this morning.
I didn’t feel like working, I got up, stretched, made several swings with my arms, but I didn’t take off. Went to the window. The sun was the most capricious of all domestic animals. Today it did not love us again, no matter how much we adore it. It didn't work. It's windy, wet and nasty outside. Autumn - what an injustice: while you want to depend on your loved one, you depend on the weather.
Maxim again turned up the sound of the film and sat down in a chair. The cinema did not touch, for the summer it lacked passion, for relationships - whims. From time to time, instead of looking at the box, the eye rested on the picture. He realized that it was more pleasant for him to look at her than at the screen, although it might be less informative at first glance, because at the second one there was something to think about. Pictures to inspire. Neither TV nor his picture could inspire anything. Yes, and what can inspire an artificial eye that blinked advertising once again, except to suck out the remnants of time and positive emotions, especially if they covered events in the world that drive you even further, into the thick of autumn.
I switched the program, the news was on, and the TV went back to black and white. Switched to canvas. The doves cooed.
I also wanted to poke around. I called Katya.
- Coffee? Katya asked, pushing loneliness out of the space of my office.
Katya, could you turn off the TV?
“Well, you’re completely already, Maxim Solomonovich,” the white blouse, black jacket and pink skirt were indignant in chorus. "Why is the skirt pink?" - I had a dream of the same color.
- Maybe I'm testing you in the role of a submissive wife? I was still looking at her, slumped in my chair.
– It doesn’t fit into any framework, – still looking at me with bewilderment, she took the remote control from the table, and the pupil went out.
- I'm talking about the painting. Do you like her, Katya? I wanted to say, is there a difference where to look: on TV or on a picture?
“I don’t watch TV at all. Box for the elderly.
- Seriously? I felt myself lagging behind life. - Am I that old? I reloaded my jacket on my shoulders.
- Not yet, but keep looking there.
– I could bring coffee more often.
“Look better at the picture,” Katya knew that if the boss switched to “you”, then either he was uneasy, or he was angry.
“Well, what kind of modesty, I could say - look better at me, Maxim. I would watch then, maybe more often, maybe not only watch. Although it would be wrong: a man, if he really wants a woman, pays attention himself. Or have I become so lazy and boring?
- It also has to be turned off from time to time. By the way, where is the remote control?
- From whom?
Current page: 1 (total book has 23 pages) [available reading excerpt: 6 pages]
Rinat Valiullin
Solo on one key
Dedicated to my father...
Valiullin R. R., 2015
© Antology LLC, 2015
Part 1
My gaze rested on the TV, which was opposite. I tried the news, not finding anything new in them, switched to the sea, there was some kind of movie where a couple basked on the beach:
- I love the south. It has always been easier with women in the south: you don’t have to give fur coats, and the sea is nearby,” he lay next to a pretty woman, resting his elbow on the sand and looking at her through dark glasses.
“Yeah, tell me more and the goods are always on the face,” she turned the beach to the other side, exposing her face to the sun.
- Are you going far? - the girl stopped his hand, which moved from the waist to her chest.
- No, to orgasm and back.
Intimacy at 11.00 seemed too early to me, I deprived the heroes of the voice and looked up. There was a painting by a contemporary artist, which I once bought in the gallery opposite, but not because of a great passion for art, I just wanted to hide the unevenness on the wall. As soon as I hung it, the wall really ceased to be nervous, and I worked more calmly, however, with its appearance in life, metamorphoses began to occur. I didn’t remember the name of the artist, but the title stuck: “Yin and Yang. Pigeon mail "- a sky streaked with wires and two doves on one of the lines. These lines broke the heights into pieces of different colors. Of course, it was about the connection of the two, via the Internet or telephone. The sky was like a quilt, a blanket woven from various pieces that wanted to hide, in which I would not mind spending this morning.
I didn’t feel like working, I got up, stretched, made several swings with my arms, but I didn’t take off. Went to the window. The sun was the most capricious of all domestic animals. Today it did not love us again, no matter how much we adore it. It didn't work. It's windy, wet and nasty outside. Autumn - what an injustice: while you want to depend on your loved one, you depend on the weather.
Maxim again turned up the sound of the film and sat down in a chair. The cinema did not touch, for the summer it lacked passion, for relationships - whims. From time to time, instead of looking at the box, the eye rested on the picture. He realized that it was more pleasant for him to look at her than at the screen, although it might be less informative at first glance, because at the second one there was something to think about. Pictures to inspire. Neither TV nor his picture could inspire anything. Yes, and what can inspire an artificial eye that blinked advertising once again, except to suck out the remnants of time and positive emotions, especially if they covered events in the world that drive you even further, into the thick of autumn.
I switched the program, the news was on, and the TV went back to black and white. Switched to canvas. The doves cooed.
I also wanted to poke around. I called Katya.
- Coffee? Katya asked, pushing loneliness out of the space of my office.
Katya, could you turn off the TV?
“Well, you’re completely already, Maxim Solomonovich,” the white blouse, black jacket and pink skirt were indignant in chorus. "Why is the skirt pink?" - I had a dream of the same color.
- Maybe I'm testing you in the role of a submissive wife? I was still looking at her, slumped in my chair.
– It doesn’t fit into any framework, – still looking at me with bewilderment, she took the remote control from the table, and the pupil went out.
- I'm talking about the painting. Do you like her, Katya? I wanted to say, is there a difference where to look: on TV or on a picture?
“I don’t watch TV at all. Box for the elderly.
- Seriously? I felt myself lagging behind life. - Am I that old? I reloaded my jacket on my shoulders.
- Not yet, but keep looking there.
– I could bring coffee more often.
“Look better at the picture,” Katya knew that if the boss switched to “you”, then either he was uneasy, or he was angry.
“Well, what kind of modesty, I could say - look better at me, Maxim. I would watch then, maybe more often, maybe not only watch. Although it would be wrong: a man, if he really wants a woman, pays attention himself. Or have I become so lazy and boring?
- It also has to be turned off from time to time. By the way, where is the remote control?
- From whom?
- From the picture.
Katya did not understand humor, it was beyond her feelings. “How often a sense of humor remains in the shadow of other feelings while it is a source of oxygen for mood. A sense of humor is the very savior that does not allow self-esteem to conquer your entire inner world, ”I wanted to read Katya a moral, but I restrained myself. Perhaps the only thing that united us was bouts of modesty, when words stumble, afraid to come out, and get stuck in the throat. I rarely made compliments so as not to embarrass or seduce. She smiled forcefully.
“Maybe you should really make coffee for you, Maksim Solomonovich?”
What, he's not ready yet? And it looks like such a serious drink.
- As always? - Katya asked, automatically, knowing full well that if there was no sun, then three spoons of sugar could replace it instead of the usual two.
“I would really like to, more than ever, “but not with you, Katya,” I added to myself.
Soon the aroma of coffee was gently rubbing against my cheek.
In everyone's life there are periods of narration, when the atmosphere is tightened tightly with the prose of life, there is no dialogue around. That is, there are a lot of people, but there is no dialogue, because everyone carries his own, brings his own words: “Let them lie down with you, now you still have no one and it’s free, I’ll take it later on occasion.” You don't need a chance. You need something else, another, others, a few remarks, proposals, letters ... Constant, warming, encouraging, yours.
I have been in this menopause for quite some time now. Prose, prose, prose, like black soil. You can grow potatoes, but you want to cultivate a vineyard. However, he is capricious, he needs hollows, hills, valleys, if about the body, climate - if about the soul, relief - if about the mind.
* * *
Yin: Today, all day long, there was a need for you to kneel, and cuddle up to the bristle file. From the very morning, I just need a bed from your meat hugs, I want to dive there, kill with kisses the pallor of my lips and the dullness of everyday life. I know that of the evils of relationships, the most harmful: addiction - to be, a drug - together. I sat down godlessly, but what's with my knees. I am twisted, and I am trembling, carelessly covered with a hand, when memory itself is squeezing with expectation. My memory card is full of our kisses.
Yan: You see, they are torn beyond the framework. Norms, frames - this is what makes us normal, but there is one “but”, if I am normal, I will quickly get bored with you.
Yin: You're right: on the one hand, I really want madness, on the other, comfort.
Yan: What are you with now?
Yin: I'm taking a break. I'm drinking tea. And then to the side.
Yang: Just don't do stupid things to just anyone. I'm on my way to you, my love.
Yin: Are you still at work?
Yan: Yes.
Yin: I thought you already left. When will you be free?
Yan: I think I'll go soon. And what?
Yin: If you pass by, call. Maybe we'll get married.
Yan: Any reason?
Yin: Yes, I have duck in the oven.
Yan: Look, don't oversalt. To not turn out like last time.
Yin: How was it last time?
Yan: I kissed her lips and neck while she cried, so sensitive that any nonsense was ready to ruin her mood. After the tears, there was usually sex. She knew it, and I knew, continuing to console, eating away her skin with kisses, not understanding why it was so salty.
Yin: Great! Especially the last sentence. This time, don't even hope it won't rain.
Yan: Then I won't take an umbrella! You are my button.
Yin: Nuclear?
Yang: Dual core.
Yin: I feel something: lately my roof is going. I'm going crazy.
Yan: Wait, I'll go with you.
* * *
Three nights, and the city is quieter with gills, like a tired huge animal. He feeds on the spree of Nevsky Prospekt, the night hunting is coming to an end, there is less and less game in his reinforced concrete fangs, the proverb bleeds: dinosaurs are not born - they become them. The animal is slowly falling asleep. His powerful body washed away vehicles from the roads. There was noticeably less steam, more and more lonely travelers with beer in their hands, that's all the romance of the night, on the banks of the Neva, licked with marble lips. Under the light music of yellow traffic lights that flickered at the intersections with their indifference to traffic rules, I drove home. I could also fall asleep and become a prehistoric fossil, but the thoughts, damn them, like a thirst for nightlife, even the third eye does not close, Degrading, this is evolution, I feel a dinosaur in me, like a city in the night, I do too I don't sleep. I turned off the engine, took a bottle of beer out of my bag, and the moon swayed like a lone lamp. There was a square in front of the house, cut diagonally by asphalt. I found a point of view through the windshield watching a woman walk down the path. A woman is like a woman. I had to look somewhere. Suddenly, two shadows caught up with her, ripped the bag out of the ladies' wardrobe and rushed in my direction.
"Coward!" honor resounded quietly within me.
The woman squealed, cash figures flashed through her head after the fright, thoughts that she would now have to call the banks and block the cards, which is good, that there was not much cash, that she managed to pay the rent and school for her son yesterday. I took a sip as if it could stop them. Grabbed the doorknob to open the door and rush towards the evil. But then he stopped. I was given someone else's bag, with someone else's funds: there was no desire to throw beer and rush to cut across them. It’s good that the beer managed to cool my mind: firstly, everyone is alive, and secondly, I didn’t want to fight and die for someone’s money. "Coward!" – Shouted in me quietly honor. I just honked my horn to the criminals and blinked my headlights. They got scared, threw a piece of skin and disappeared. “Not bad, it was that rare case when light defeated darkness,” I felt like a superhero, straightened up, finished my beer and closed my eyes in pleasure. There were no kisses, there was not even applause. The frightened woman picked up hers and hurried away. I looked after her for a long time, until her excited body fell into the darkness of houses, apartments, where soon she dialed her friend’s number, excitedly talking about the incident and checking the contents of her purse, counting banknotes and happily finding credit cards among discount cards: the trump cards remained in her hands .
I should have gone home too, but I didn't want to. The street turned out to be the very place where now it was free, calm and warm. And at home, on tiptoe, you will have to look for parking with your ass and fall asleep to the grumbling of your wife. I hate to tiptoe in my house, where every rustle cuts consciousness, as if a piece of plaster is falling off from your personal self. And now, like a skeleton, silently rising from the grave of the night, you must do all your business in the dark in order to lie back. She will turn away from me as usual, I will try to hug my wife from behind and I will talk nonsense. I didn’t like it when she didn’t understand me, I didn’t want to explain to her why it took me so long to drive home, it would be a waste of time, although I started doing this mentally, as a rule, going upstairs in the elevator. I looked down at myself, my face filled with guilt. “You look tired,” I read in the reflection. “I know you are not to blame. Lucky?" “He was like that about him, about the look,” I tried to smile at my reflection, “now you can’t say, it’s unlikely that anyone will ever be able to sincerely love him.”
I didn’t find a place near the front door, I parked in front of the house, across the road. Opening the door, I got out of the car, clicked the alarm. The time for political thoughts came after gender: in fact, our system remained a slave-owning system, woven from profit and lust, industry and women. “You are a sexy machine,” I thought of my wife again. “If I were a mechanic, I would change some parts.” I didn't accept another challenge. The pedestrian crossing constantly repeated that it was allowed and literally right there - that it was completed. He chirped in a high voice in the night, hoisting his tricolor over a small island nation of walkers, it was a little uncomfortable, I don’t know what tormented me. Apparently, the indisposition of the fact that I did not get something today or in this life as a whole. The transition from youth to adulthood has just been allowed, and is now complete. It's like I didn't make it. And now I'm a grown man, sitting with a bottle of beer on the bench, absolutely alone. Instead of the sun - a lantern. I look at the float of my meaning of life, but it does not move, no matter how much you feed the goldfish. Even a roach, and she does not take. A pity, vobla now would not hurt. And it's not a matter of bait, a lot has been acquired, quite enough for a decent youth for their descendants. Speaking of my old age, I carefully looked at the ground, where a lone night ant rushed about in search of beer caps and khabariki. “As I understand you, it’s hard to quit both at the same time.” I quit smoking and started drinking. Not in a global sense, in the momentary. He stubbed out his cigarette and took out another bottle of beer.
Marina returned home, the thought “When will you come?” Obsessively spinning in her head, which she let go to hell after the second unaccepted call, at the feet of the cat: “I agree, he loves you more, but you are not there yet.” “I didn’t wait for you,” the schnitzel settled down in Marina’s stomach. She stuck a glass, half empty, into the table: “You can call me a pessimist, but there is wine in the glass, not just water.” She sat down at the computer, as if behind a wall, behind which she felt good, behind which she could calmly breathe, scratch her pubis on the keyboard, teasing the passers-by of her personal page. “You know what I would call you - comfort,” she felt uncomfortable without her husband. “I hope you remember, we were going to the cottage to the mushrooms this weekend,” she got up and walked around the living room.
She leaned against the glass of night, her forehead felt the coolness of the window, which, apparently, was going to spend the rest of the evening with her. A telephone in his hand, heavy earrings of long beeps in his ears. Isn't that an excuse to make yourself some tea? The tea was dull, monotonous, livery, porcelain.
* * *
- Where have you been?
“Where have you been, where have you been, where have you been, CDs of your questioning eyes are playing the same song, you want to control my elusive step, each of which is not even known to me. Why do you need it? You abandoned your life for this, look, it is bending without attention, not only you are lonely, ”I silently looked at my wife. She was in her repertoire, in her wardrobe. The only thing that brought us together now was that she, too, was a little out of her mind.
- Where have you been?
“Let me get out of my coat, leave my shoes, pants, pour in the warmth of the kitchen, along with tea, since yours is not there, and then ask around.”
- Where have you been? - for the third time my legal wife soloed.
“Where I am already empty, complete absence. Where was I? Who was I with? With some of the people passing by, with the city, with the sky, with the street, with beer, if you insist, I’ll tell you, just turn down the music of your boring record, ”recalled the very disk that is inserted into the lower lip of African women Mursi tribe. Even if this disc is already platinum, and a million sales have been made. Set your control shot on safety, I see you've been running wild here alone. Some go crazy when alone, to continue it together, nervously and dimly. Are we one of those too?
- You don't have to answer. I might not have come, - my wife waved her hand at me.
“I could, but I have a problem. To whom else can I turn with her, if not to you?
I noticed this as soon as we got married. What's the problem now?
“I began to feel you too thinly. Thinner than your summer dress falling off your shoulders. I know the dress has no ass, but it can sit, just as well exactly where I would prefer to lie, - I picked her up in my arms and kissed her chest. I swayed, and we almost fell right in the corridor. It's good that the walls. They kept this couple, this house, this marriage.
- You are drunk? - freed from my paws wife.
“I guess I don't know.
- You smell like beer.
- So what? Don't take it for vulgarity, but she touched the truth.
- Morality, like a cold governess, will guard my curiosity until you throw her dress with bait, only then will she evaporate.
“Three o’clock in the morning, if possible.
- Good. Perhaps we are not destined to die in one day, to nurse loud children in a spacious house. Today I am ready to serve as your shadow: languid, ruthless and dangerous: I will build a fire right on your heart from damp worries and pink coquetry.
It looks like a declaration of love. How long have you been wearing this?
- No, a week ago it stuck after the presentation of another book. Well, you remember.
“I remember when they brought you unconscious.
No, I had feelings.
- I think there was more alcohol. It's good that you didn't see how angry I was.
– Yes, it’s a pity… that I didn’t see it. I love it when you get mad, so sexy.
Did you drink a lot then?
- No, not really, but when I vomited, I thought: really in this life I had already drunk my own and didn’t get into me anymore, when I looked, I didn’t like anything, the body refused to explore life through your cuts, when I fell out of love, I thought, really in this life I could hate someone so much, I was sober, and you were pulling on pantyhose, - I began to compose on the go, giving my movements an even more drunken tone.
“Go to the bathroom and sleep,” commanded his wife.
- How is your mom? - I remembered that my mother-in-law started up in my house.
I hope he doesn't hear.
We slept exactly according to my scenario.
* * *
Yin: I know that any girl is like a bottle of wine for you: you drank it, burped it with a kiss, wiped your lips with the words “I'll call you” and moved on. But I'm not a disposable drink, I'm a heady nectar, but for you it will remain non-alcoholic if you don't show up in the next half hour.
Yan: In the morning they offered me news, but I refused, someone will say: “Fool”, the one who does not know what I did yesterday and with whom, most likely, I am a supporter of the evening, although it’s even difficult to consider them news, I I would call it a chronicle, and call myself a chronic alcoholic of the very woman that I received every evening, as a divine gift.
Yin: What's the news? I know her?
Yan: I think you're getting jealous?
Yin: Run away. It's not jealousy, it's curiosity.
Yan: There is no reason, I would even say a leash. Briefly speaking. Come, let's watch movies and kiss.
Yin: Yes, I completely forgot, what will you do if I leave tomorrow?
Yan: Where to?
Yin: To my mother.
Yang: I will miss you.
Yin: What else?
Yang: Drink, smoke, work.
Yin: Also.
Yang: I miss you a lot.
Yin: And then?
Yan: And then you will be bored.
* * *
The steel needle glided over the green cloth, trying to cover the distance between people in a shorter way, in order to sew those who had set sail as quickly as possible to those who met them. Boredom drives humanity. People still continue to get bored, moving towards each other. She went to her mother. It was two days to go, but Marina never felt sorry for these vacation days, as she lived them in such a pleasant peace, in thoughts of wide fields outside the window, in long tea parties of villages smoking samovars. Moreover, there was no airport in her hometown, and she would have had to fly first to Nizhnekamsk, and then even to Yelabuga by train or bus with full packages of gifts. Following tradition, she could not return home empty-handed. With an empty heart, yes, but never without gifts. Although the mother, touching and putting them in lockers, deliberately grumbled all the time: “Why are you spending so much, we also have all this.”
Marina liked to fly along the iron ski track, pushing off with sticks of concrete pillars flashing outside the window, then slowing down to Nordic walking, then accelerating, switching to skating. It amused her that, as if obeying the speed of the train, her thoughts also switched from galloping to jogging and vice versa. The road echoed in her head as glued pieces of canvas, as if they were some minor minor inconsistencies that occur from time to time in her life.
In the morning there were two of them in the compartment, when another woman sat down next to her. Middle age, average build, average attractiveness, but high talkativeness. It seemed that her speech competed in speed with the train, which was also awarded the title of ambulance. The ladies have already managed to get to know each other and even pour a couple of glasses of transparent conversation, coasters cut in iron logic, which they kept lifting up every now and then to open their lips and take a sip, but then put them back on the table, not daring to open completely. The middle-aged woman who so elegantly placed her slender figure on the seat opposite was a perfumer:
“Just don’t be offended by me if I poke my nose into other people’s business, this is professional.” The nose is my instrument, I feel people with it. I can't stand lies. I know almost everything about those with whom I communicate or just am nearby. Imagine how hard it is for me to communicate with a person when you know what he ate for lunch or drank for dinner. Do you want me to tell you what you had for breakfast?
“No, I still remember,” Marina remembered about the egg, tea and oatmeal cookies. All this time, the neighbor twisted the balloon in her hands, it grew before our eyes. It soon appeared that there were already three of them in the compartment.
- Your work is interesting. You know everything about everyone, - Marina tried to be hospitable.
Yes, it's not always handy. Yes, and harmful. The liver is already gone. Here, - finally inflating a balloon, on which it was written: "People, love each other," she tied it with a ribbon so that it would not turn sour. – This is what love is. She is like a balloon: big, weightless and attractive. One has only to take it in hand, and immediately you become a person without age, without principles and without restrictions. Take it,” she handed the ball to Marina.
“Lucky with a neighbor,” Marina thought to herself, but aloud, hugging the pink ball and putting her face on it, she sent another phrase: “How inexplicably pleasant and fragile she is.
“Yeah, immense,” the neighbor confirmed.
“Now it will definitely burst, as mine once burst,” Marina continued to think.
“Judging by the beginning, this Saturday did not promise anything good. How I love those who do not have the habit of promising something, ”Marina was still hugging the pink bubble.
“Saturday is good if there is someone to hide and sleep on,” the stranger seemed to read her thoughts.
- Yes, it remains only to enjoy and protect it.
Saturday or love? The woman laughed softly.
“Thoma,” the perfumer left behind a trail of awkward pause, but immediately added more, pressing the scarlet bottle of her lips, from which the words burst out quickly: “Oh, that’s what I remembered about love.” Today I received an SMS from a friend: “I met such a young man on the Internet! You can not even imagine". I told her: “Well, describe it in at least two words.” She told me: "I fell in love." I told her: “And at three?” “Well, in general, the sky is covered with excitement, clouds of hope are floating with the flow, coffee is hot, time is running out, dreams are illusory. I'm going to the cinema tomorrow. I hope for a Sunday clarification of my personal life, ”Toma spoke so quickly, as if she was participating in a speed chatter competition. Words crackled in the furnace of her lips, you only have time to throw up firewood. At the same time, her eyebrows gesticulated so emotionally that it seemed as if it was a running line, exactly repeating her heated speech.
– Tom, do you mind if I open the door? Marina still couldn't choose how to behave. A slight atmosphere of schizophrenia filled the compartment. I wanted to ventilate a little.
- No, the main thing for me is not to forgive. A runny nose is my incompetence. And smoke too, although I sometimes sin. But rarely. On weekends. Today and tomorrow I will smoke. Tomorrow is Sunday? She looked seriously at Marina.
“An empty day,” she nodded affirmatively.
- You can hatch grandiose plans for a whole week, so as not to give birth to a walk, in a word, to take it and not go anywhere. Because, willy-nilly, you think about Monday as a close person with whom life is not sugar, but without it, it would lose its taste. Maybe some tea? Tom offered modestly, unloading sweets from the bag. - Don't think. Actually, I don’t like sweets, but it’s crazy about me!
- You drink, I allowed myself two cups of coffee in the morning, - with these words, Marina took out a tablet from her travel bag and, bending her legs under her, settled down by the window. Trying to protect yourself from a companion.
- Worried?
- What? Sorry, didn't hear.
– Two cups of coffee, you say.
- Ah. Yes, no, it was impossible to get drunk alone, - Marina lied. Before her again appeared on the threshold of vice, which was not satisfied.
“To be honest, I don’t like to read at all. They gave me a tablet, now I'm learning to read again, - Marina continued to invent. No one gave her anything, she bought it herself, on the road, especially in order to read this book, which had already been downloaded for a long time and which she did not dare to open for a very long time. “But if you have to choose between a tablet and a dress, it would be better to buy yourself a new one.”
– What is the book?
“Well, it’s more likely not even a book, but a diary of one correspondence between a man and a woman,” Marina turned on the screen and buried herself in the tablet.
- Interesting? - Tom did not let her go, noticing a blush on her neighbor's cheeks.
- Quite. It feels like it's written about me in the third person.
- View from above?
- I would say even - from below.
- How interesting.
- Nothing interesting. The language is terrible, after each remark you have to think, - already immersing her in the liquid crystals of the screen, she answered, without looking at her neighbor.
- You intrigued me. I didn’t even want to drink tea, - at first I took it, then, wrinkling it in my hands, put down my Sudoku Tom. She kept changing two books in her hands: a collection of sudoku and another, apparently, popular science. A little later, Marina saw the name: "In the constellation of Cancer."
- If you want, I'll read a little, - Marina tore her eyes from the screen.
- With great pleasure.
Yin: Well, I have to go. Let's write.
Yan: Girl, where are you going?
Yin: Married.
Yang: What's in there?
Yin: I don't know.
Yan: Tell me later.
Yin: Too intimate.
Yan: Will you have to sleep with someone there?
Yin: Sleep. Of course.
Yan: I thought live.
Yin: Definitely, worry all the time.
Yan: How do you like the groom?
Yin: Gently.
Yang: You seem to be anxious.
Yin: Of course, this thought haunts me. I can't wait for this day.
Yan: Don't worry, we'll sign soon.
Yin: I will worry, like this sea of love that splashes under my feet.
Yan: Where are you now, in the subway?
Yin: No, I say I'm sitting by the sea. One.
Yan: Couldn't meet anyone? What are you doing there?
Marina was still looking at the screen, where, besides the letters, the same subway appeared, where she almost met one young man, when they looked at each other for a long time, until he came up and said something pleasant to her, and then added that she would never ride the subway again.
It was in the subway, her beautiful body was wrapped in an autumn coat of bad weather, boredom, fatigue, she held on to her purse and listened to her friend.
- The weather is not good this summer.
- I don't care now.
– What worries you? Ah, I see that young man opposite: every now and then he dips you in his blue lenses.
* * *
I sat at the table and drew an elongated surprised face on A4. Monday, I thought to myself. Tuesday for some reason seemed puffy, with sleepy eyes, Wednesday turned out to be a middle-aged woman with chemistry on her head, hovering in bewilderment between Tuesday and Thursday, the latter looked something like my editor: short, calm, married, Friday came out as a vulgar woman, but cheerful, with shades of fatigue from an idle life, she called her close friend on Saturday, she was still basking under the covers, now and then looking at her son. Sunday was the unlucky son of Saturday and Monday.
The window showed already noon and some mass confusion of young people into one elegant cocktail. On the round surface of which a man surfaced, loudly crying from a tube: “Friends, we congratulate you on the Day of the Philologist and Orientalist! Our concert ... - Max turned down the sound, closing the window and leaving the young man barking into the microphone behind the glass. Maxim again drowned in his chair, out of habit he checked his mail.
"What day of the week?" I asked myself, because Katya wasn't there today.
“It rains on Saturday too. Showers of the soul. I didn't have them on Saturdays before. Previously, Saturday was not a day of the week for me, it was a day of the year, if it were my will, I would have given her the title of birthday ... for life. There were no letters. Nobody wanted to work on Saturday. "What the hell am I doing?" – sharply my body grew from behind the table, and it was blown away by a rush of desires to the door. Counting the steps with its feet, it soon plunged into the warmth of spring. First, I sat on a bench at a distance from the holiday and began to observe what music does to people.
A blonde was dancing in the focus of my vision. I looked at her as if I already knew everything about her, but she knew nothing about me. Everyone thinks so when they meet, a complete delusion, even disrespect for the secrets of another. Such acquaintances, as a rule, are doomed, even if they drag on and lead to bed, a fiasco awaited them. I, too, was doomed to fail. “Fail here? Or wait: “Get lost!””? I didn't want to know much about her, I only wanted to know that she wouldn't tell me herself or let me feel when I touched her. There was no desire to reduce everything corny to the penultimate verb. I didn't want to run my palm over her skin like a magnetic card to read everyone who had already done it, there was no need for that. She was just tall and young and already figured freely in my dreams. And it's not just about her beautiful figure. I just got turned on. The girl was, apparently, one of those who created around themselves the Brownian movement of men. And circling now in this Brownian hell, she soared in the spring bath, brushing them off. Looking at the dancing youth, I also suddenly wanted to be light, laid-back, frivolous.
Rinat Valiullin
Solo on one key
Dedicated to my father...
Valiullin R. R., 2015
© Antology LLC, 2015
My gaze rested on the TV, which was opposite. I tried the news, not finding anything new in them, switched to the sea, there was some kind of movie where a couple basked on the beach:
- I love the south. It has always been easier with women in the south: you don’t have to give fur coats, and the sea is nearby,” he lay next to a pretty woman, resting his elbow on the sand and looking at her through dark glasses.
“Yeah, tell me more and the goods are always on the face,” she turned the beach to the other side, exposing her face to the sun.
- Are you going far? - the girl stopped his hand, which moved from the waist to her chest.
- No, to orgasm and back.
Intimacy at 11.00 seemed too early to me, I deprived the heroes of the voice and looked up. There was a painting by a contemporary artist, which I once bought in the gallery opposite, but not because of a great passion for art, I just wanted to hide the unevenness on the wall. As soon as I hung it, the wall really ceased to be nervous, and I worked more calmly, however, with its appearance in life, metamorphoses began to occur. I didn’t remember the name of the artist, but the title stuck: “Yin and Yang. Pigeon mail "- a sky streaked with wires and two doves on one of the lines. These lines broke the heights into pieces of different colors. Of course, it was about the connection of the two, via the Internet or telephone. The sky was like a quilt, a blanket woven from various pieces that wanted to hide, in which I would not mind spending this morning.
I didn’t feel like working, I got up, stretched, made several swings with my arms, but I didn’t take off. Went to the window. The sun was the most capricious of all domestic animals. Today it did not love us again, no matter how much we adore it. It didn't work. It's windy, wet and nasty outside. Autumn - what an injustice: while you want to depend on your loved one, you depend on the weather.
Maxim again turned up the sound of the film and sat down in a chair. The cinema did not touch, for the summer it lacked passion, for relationships - whims. From time to time, instead of looking at the box, the eye rested on the picture. He realized that it was more pleasant for him to look at her than at the screen, although it might be less informative at first glance, because at the second one there was something to think about. Pictures to inspire. Neither TV nor his picture could inspire anything. Yes, and what can inspire an artificial eye that blinked advertising once again, except to suck out the remnants of time and positive emotions, especially if they covered events in the world that drive you even further, into the thick of autumn.
I switched the program, the news was on, and the TV went back to black and white. Switched to canvas. The doves cooed.
I also wanted to poke around. I called Katya.
- Coffee? Katya asked, pushing loneliness out of the space of my office.
Katya, could you turn off the TV?
“Well, you’re completely already, Maxim Solomonovich,” the white blouse, black jacket and pink skirt were indignant in chorus. "Why is the skirt pink?" - I had a dream of the same color.
- Maybe I'm testing you in the role of a submissive wife? I was still looking at her, slumped in my chair.
– It doesn’t fit into any framework, – still looking at me with bewilderment, she took the remote control from the table, and the pupil went out.
- I'm talking about the painting. Do you like her, Katya? I wanted to say, is there a difference where to look: on TV or on a picture?
“I don’t watch TV at all. Box for the elderly.
- Seriously? I felt myself lagging behind life. - Am I that old? I reloaded my jacket on my shoulders.
- Not yet, but keep looking there.
– I could bring coffee more often.
“Look better at the picture,” Katya knew that if the boss switched to “you”, then either he was uneasy, or he was angry.
“Well, what kind of modesty, I could say - look better at me, Maxim. I would watch then, maybe more often, maybe not only watch. Although it would be wrong: a man, if he really wants a woman, pays attention himself. Or have I become so lazy and boring?
- It also has to be turned off from time to time. By the way, where is the remote control?
- From whom?
- From the picture.
Katya did not understand humor, it was beyond her feelings. “How often a sense of humor remains in the shadow of other feelings while it is a source of oxygen for mood. A sense of humor is the very savior that does not allow self-esteem to conquer your entire inner world, ”I wanted to read Katya a moral, but I restrained myself. Perhaps the only thing that united us was bouts of modesty, when words stumble, afraid to come out, and get stuck in the throat. I rarely made compliments so as not to embarrass or seduce. She smiled forcefully.
“Maybe you should really make coffee for you, Maksim Solomonovich?”
What, he's not ready yet? And it looks like such a serious drink.
- As always? - Katya asked, automatically, knowing full well that if there was no sun, then three spoons of sugar could replace it instead of the usual two.
“I would really like to, more than ever, “but not with you, Katya,” I added to myself.
Soon the aroma of coffee was gently rubbing against my cheek.
In everyone's life there are periods of narration, when the atmosphere is tightened tightly with the prose of life, there is no dialogue around. That is, there are a lot of people, but there is no dialogue, because everyone carries his own, brings his own words: “Let them lie down with you, now you still have no one and it’s free, I’ll take it later on occasion.” You don't need a chance. You need something else, another, others, a few remarks, proposals, letters ... Constant, warming, encouraging, yours.
I have been in this menopause for quite some time now. Prose, prose, prose, like black soil. You can grow potatoes, but you want to cultivate a vineyard. However, he is capricious, he needs hollows, hills, valleys, if about the body, climate - if about the soul, relief - if about the mind.
* * *Yin: Today, all day long, there was a need for you to kneel, and cuddle up to the bristle file. From the very morning, I just need a bed from your meat hugs, I want to dive there, kill with kisses the pallor of my lips and the dullness of everyday life. I know that of the evils of relationships, the most harmful: addiction - to be, a drug - together. I sat down godlessly, but what's with my knees. I am twisted, and I am trembling, carelessly covered with a hand, when memory itself is squeezing with expectation. My memory card is full of our kisses.
Yan: You see, they are torn beyond the framework. Norms, frames - this is what makes us normal, but there is one “but”, if I am normal, I will quickly get bored with you.
Dedicated to my father...
Valiullin R. R., 2015
© Antology LLC, 2015
Part 1
My gaze rested on the TV, which was opposite. I tried the news, not finding anything new in them, switched to the sea, there was some kind of movie where a couple basked on the beach:
- I love the south. It has always been easier with women in the south: you don’t have to give fur coats, and the sea is nearby,” he lay next to a pretty woman, resting his elbow on the sand and looking at her through dark glasses.
“Yeah, tell me more and the goods are always on the face,” she turned the beach to the other side, exposing her face to the sun.
- Are you going far? - the girl stopped his hand, which moved from the waist to her chest.
- No, to orgasm and back.
Intimacy at 11.00 seemed too early to me, I deprived the heroes of the voice and looked up. There was a painting by a contemporary artist, which I once bought in the gallery opposite, but not because of a great passion for art, I just wanted to hide the unevenness on the wall. As soon as I hung it, the wall really ceased to be nervous, and I worked more calmly, however, with its appearance in life, metamorphoses began to occur. I didn’t remember the name of the artist, but the title stuck: “Yin and Yang. Pigeon mail "- a sky streaked with wires and two doves on one of the lines. These lines broke the heights into pieces of different colors. Of course, it was about the connection of the two, via the Internet or telephone. The sky was like a quilt, a blanket woven from various pieces that wanted to hide, in which I would not mind spending this morning.
I didn’t feel like working, I got up, stretched, made several swings with my arms, but I didn’t take off. Went to the window. The sun was the most capricious of all domestic animals. Today it did not love us again, no matter how much we adore it. It didn't work. It's windy, wet and nasty outside. Autumn - what an injustice: while you want to depend on your loved one, you depend on the weather.
Maxim again turned up the sound of the film and sat down in a chair. The cinema did not touch, for the summer it lacked passion, for relationships - whims. From time to time, instead of looking at the box, the eye rested on the picture. He realized that it was more pleasant for him to look at her than at the screen, although it might be less informative at first glance, because at the second one there was something to think about. Pictures to inspire. Neither TV nor his picture could inspire anything. Yes, and what can inspire an artificial eye that blinked advertising once again, except to suck out the remnants of time and positive emotions, especially if they covered events in the world that drive you even further, into the thick of autumn.
I switched the program, the news was on, and the TV went back to black and white. Switched to canvas. The doves cooed.
I also wanted to poke around. I called Katya.
- Coffee? Katya asked, pushing loneliness out of the space of my office.
Katya, could you turn off the TV?
“Well, you’re completely already, Maxim Solomonovich,” the white blouse, black jacket and pink skirt were indignant in chorus.
"Why is the skirt pink?" - I had a dream of the same color.
- Maybe I'm testing you in the role of a submissive wife? I was still looking at her, slumped in my chair.
– It doesn’t fit into any framework, – still looking at me with bewilderment, she took the remote control from the table, and the pupil went out.
- I'm talking about the painting. Do you like her, Katya? I wanted to say, is there a difference where to look: on TV or on a picture?
“I don’t watch TV at all. Box for the elderly.
- Seriously? I felt myself lagging behind life. - Am I that old? I reloaded my jacket on my shoulders.
- Not yet, but keep looking there.
– I could bring coffee more often.
“Look better at the picture,” Katya knew that if the boss switched to “you”, then either he was uneasy, or he was angry.
“Well, what kind of modesty, I could say - look better at me, Maxim. I would watch then, maybe more often, maybe not only watch. Although it would be wrong: a man, if he really wants a woman, pays attention himself. Or have I become so lazy and boring?
- It also has to be turned off from time to time. By the way, where is the remote control?
- From whom?
- From the picture.
Katya did not understand humor, it was beyond her feelings. “How often a sense of humor remains in the shadow of other feelings while it is a source of oxygen for mood. A sense of humor is the very savior that does not allow self-esteem to conquer your entire inner world, ”I wanted to read Katya a moral, but I restrained myself. Perhaps the only thing that united us was bouts of modesty, when words stumble, afraid to come out, and get stuck in the throat. I rarely made compliments so as not to embarrass or seduce. She smiled forcefully.
“Maybe you should really make coffee for you, Maksim Solomonovich?”
What, he's not ready yet? And it looks like such a serious drink.
- As always? - Katya asked, automatically, knowing full well that if there was no sun, then three spoons of sugar could replace it instead of the usual two.
“I would really like to, more than ever, “but not with you, Katya,” I added to myself.
Soon the aroma of coffee was gently rubbing against my cheek.
In everyone's life there are periods of narration, when the atmosphere is tightened tightly with the prose of life, there is no dialogue around. That is, there are a lot of people, but there is no dialogue, because everyone carries his own, brings his own words: “Let them lie down with you, now you still have no one and it’s free, I’ll take it later on occasion.” You don't need a chance. You need something else, another, others, a few remarks, proposals, letters ... Constant, warming, encouraging, yours.
I have been in this menopause for quite some time now. Prose, prose, prose, like black soil. You can grow potatoes, but you want to cultivate a vineyard. However, he is capricious, he needs hollows, hills, valleys, if about the body, climate - if about the soul, relief - if about the mind.
* * *
Yin: Today, all day long, there was a need for you to kneel, and cuddle up to the bristle file. From the very morning, I just need a bed from your meat hugs, I want to dive there, kill with kisses the pallor of my lips and the dullness of everyday life. I know that of the evils of relationships, the most harmful: addiction - to be, a drug - together. I sat down godlessly, but what's with my knees. I am twisted, and I am trembling, carelessly covered with a hand, when memory itself is squeezing with expectation. My memory card is full of our kisses.
Yan: You see, they are torn beyond the framework. Norms, frames - this is what makes us normal, but there is one “but”, if I am normal, I will quickly get bored with you.
Yin: You're right: on the one hand, I really want madness, on the other, comfort.
Yan: What are you with now?
Yin: I'm taking a break. I'm drinking tea. And then to the side.
Yang: Just don't do stupid things to just anyone. I'm on my way to you, my love.
Yin: Are you still at work?
Yan: Yes.
Yin: I thought you already left. When will you be free?
Yan: I think I'll go soon. And what?
Yin: If you pass by, call. Maybe we'll get married.
Yan: Any reason?
Yin: Yes, I have duck in the oven.
Yan: Look, don't oversalt. To not turn out like last time.
Yin: How was it last time?
Yan: I kissed her lips and neck while she cried, so sensitive that any nonsense was ready to ruin her mood. After the tears, there was usually sex. She knew it, and I knew, continuing to console, eating away her skin with kisses, not understanding why it was so salty.
Yin: Great! Especially the last sentence. This time, don't even hope it won't rain.
Yan: Then I won't take an umbrella! You are my button.
Yin: Nuclear?
Yang: Dual core.
Yin: I feel something: lately my roof is going. I'm going crazy.
Yan: Wait, I'll go with you.
* * *
Three nights, and the city is quieter with gills, like a tired huge animal. He feeds on the spree of Nevsky Prospekt, the night hunting is coming to an end, there is less and less game in his reinforced concrete fangs, the proverb bleeds: dinosaurs are not born - they become them. The animal is slowly falling asleep. His powerful body washed away vehicles from the roads. There was noticeably less steam, more and more lonely travelers with beer in their hands, that's all the romance of the night, on the banks of the Neva, licked with marble lips. Under the light music of yellow traffic lights that flickered at the intersections with their indifference to traffic rules, I drove home. I could also fall asleep and become a prehistoric fossil, but the thoughts, damn them, like a thirst for nightlife, even the third eye does not close, Degrading, this is evolution, I feel a dinosaur in me, like a city in the night, I do too I don't sleep. I turned off the engine, took a bottle of beer out of my bag, and the moon swayed like a lone lamp. There was a square in front of the house, cut diagonally by asphalt. I found a point of view through the windshield watching a woman walk down the path. A woman is like a woman. I had to look somewhere. Suddenly, two shadows caught up with her, ripped the bag out of the ladies' wardrobe and rushed in my direction.
"Coward!" honor resounded quietly within me.
The woman squealed, cash figures flashed through her head after the fright, thoughts that she would now have to call the banks and block the cards, which is good, that there was not much cash, that she managed to pay the rent and school for her son yesterday. I took a sip as if it could stop them. Grabbed the doorknob to open the door and rush towards the evil. But then he stopped. I was given someone else's bag, with someone else's funds: there was no desire to throw beer and rush to cut across them. It’s good that the beer managed to cool my mind: firstly, everyone is alive, and secondly, I didn’t want to fight and die for someone’s money. "Coward!" – Shouted in me quietly honor. I just honked my horn to the criminals and blinked my headlights. They got scared, threw a piece of skin and disappeared. “Not bad, it was that rare case when light defeated darkness,” I felt like a superhero, straightened up, finished my beer and closed my eyes in pleasure. There were no kisses, there was not even applause. The frightened woman picked up hers and hurried away. I looked after her for a long time, until her excited body fell into the darkness of houses, apartments, where soon she dialed her friend’s number, excitedly talking about the incident and checking the contents of her purse, counting banknotes and happily finding credit cards among discount cards: the trump cards remained in her hands .
I should have gone home too, but I didn't want to. The street turned out to be the very place where now it was free, calm and warm. And at home, on tiptoe, you will have to look for parking with your ass and fall asleep to the grumbling of your wife. I hate to tiptoe in my house, where every rustle cuts consciousness, as if a piece of plaster is falling off from your personal self. And now, like a skeleton, silently rising from the grave of the night, you must do all your business in the dark in order to lie back. She will turn away from me as usual, I will try to hug my wife from behind and I will talk nonsense. I didn’t like it when she didn’t understand me, I didn’t want to explain to her why it took me so long to drive home, it would be a waste of time, although I started doing this mentally, as a rule, going upstairs in the elevator. I looked down at myself, my face filled with guilt. “You look tired,” I read in the reflection. “I know you are not to blame. Lucky?" “He was like that about him, about the look,” I tried to smile at my reflection, “now you can’t say, it’s unlikely that anyone will ever be able to sincerely love him.”
I didn’t find a place near the front door, I parked in front of the house, across the road. Opening the door, I got out of the car, clicked the alarm. The time for political thoughts came after gender: in fact, our system remained a slave-owning system, woven from profit and lust, industry and women. “You are a sexy machine,” I thought of my wife again. “If I were a mechanic, I would change some parts.” I didn't accept another challenge. The pedestrian crossing constantly repeated that it was allowed and literally right there - that it was completed. He chirped in a high voice in the night, hoisting his tricolor over a small island nation of walkers, it was a little uncomfortable, I don’t know what tormented me. Apparently, the indisposition of the fact that I did not get something today or in this life as a whole. The transition from youth to adulthood has just been allowed, and is now complete. It's like I didn't make it. And now I'm a grown man, sitting with a bottle of beer on the bench, absolutely alone. Instead of the sun - a lantern. I look at the float of my meaning of life, but it does not move, no matter how much you feed the goldfish. Even a roach, and she does not take. A pity, vobla now would not hurt. And it's not a matter of bait, a lot has been acquired, quite enough for a decent youth for their descendants. Speaking of my old age, I carefully looked at the ground, where a lone night ant rushed about in search of beer caps and khabariki. “As I understand you, it’s hard to quit both at the same time.” I quit smoking and started drinking. Not in a global sense, in the momentary. He stubbed out his cigarette and took out another bottle of beer.
Marina returned home, the thought “When will you come?” Obsessively spinning in her head, which she let go to hell after the second unaccepted call, at the feet of the cat: “I agree, he loves you more, but you are not there yet.” “I didn’t wait for you,” the schnitzel settled down in Marina’s stomach. She stuck a glass, half empty, into the table: “You can call me a pessimist, but there is wine in the glass, not just water.” She sat down at the computer, as if behind a wall, behind which she felt good, behind which she could calmly breathe, scratch her pubis on the keyboard, teasing the passers-by of her personal page. “You know what I would call you - comfort,” she felt uncomfortable without her husband. “I hope you remember, we were going to the cottage to the mushrooms this weekend,” she got up and walked around the living room.
She leaned against the glass of night, her forehead felt the coolness of the window, which, apparently, was going to spend the rest of the evening with her. A telephone in his hand, heavy earrings of long beeps in his ears. Isn't that an excuse to make yourself some tea? The tea was dull, monotonous, livery, porcelain.
* * *
- Where have you been?
“Where have you been, where have you been, where have you been, CDs of your questioning eyes are playing the same song, you want to control my elusive step, each of which is not even known to me. Why do you need it? You abandoned your life for this, look, it is bending without attention, not only you are lonely, ”I silently looked at my wife. She was in her repertoire, in her wardrobe. The only thing that brought us together now was that she, too, was a little out of her mind.
- Where have you been?
“Let me get out of my coat, leave my shoes, pants, pour in the warmth of the kitchen, along with tea, since yours is not there, and then ask around.”
- Where have you been? - for the third time my legal wife soloed.
“Where I am already empty, complete absence. Where was I? Who was I with? With some of the people passing by, with the city, with the sky, with the street, with beer, if you insist, I’ll tell you, just turn down the music of your boring record, ”recalled the very disk that is inserted into the lower lip of African women Mursi tribe. Even if this disc is already platinum, and a million sales have been made. Set your control shot on safety, I see you've been running wild here alone. Some go crazy when alone, to continue it together, nervously and dimly. Are we one of those too?
- You don't have to answer. I might not have come, - my wife waved her hand at me.
“I could, but I have a problem. To whom else can I turn with her, if not to you?
I noticed this as soon as we got married. What's the problem now?
“I began to feel you too thinly. Thinner than your summer dress falling off your shoulders. I know the dress has no ass, but it can sit, just as well exactly where I would prefer to lie, - I picked her up in my arms and kissed her chest. I swayed, and we almost fell right in the corridor. It's good that the walls. They kept this couple, this house, this marriage.
- You are drunk? - freed from my paws wife.
“I guess I don't know.
- You smell like beer.
- So what? Don't take it for vulgarity, but she touched the truth.
- Morality, like a cold governess, will guard my curiosity until you throw her dress with bait, only then will she evaporate.
“Three o’clock in the morning, if possible.
- Good. Perhaps we are not destined to die in one day, to nurse loud children in a spacious house. Today I am ready to serve as your shadow: languid, ruthless and dangerous: I will build a fire right on your heart from damp worries and pink coquetry.
It looks like a declaration of love. How long have you been wearing this?
- No, a week ago it stuck after the presentation of another book. Well, you remember.
“I remember when they brought you unconscious.
No, I had feelings.
- I think there was more alcohol. It's good that you didn't see how angry I was.
– Yes, it’s a pity… that I didn’t see it. I love it when you get mad, so sexy.
Did you drink a lot then?
- No, not really, but when I vomited, I thought: really in this life I had already drunk my own and didn’t get into me anymore, when I looked, I didn’t like anything, the body refused to explore life through your cuts, when I fell out of love, I thought, really in this life I could hate someone so much, I was sober, and you were pulling on pantyhose, - I began to compose on the go, giving my movements an even more drunken tone.
“Go to the bathroom and sleep,” commanded his wife.
- How is your mom? - I remembered that my mother-in-law started up in my house.
I hope he doesn't hear.
We slept exactly according to my scenario.
* * *
Yin: I know that any girl is like a bottle of wine for you: you drank it, burped it with a kiss, wiped your lips with the words “I'll call you” and moved on. But I'm not a disposable drink, I'm a heady nectar, but for you it will remain non-alcoholic if you don't show up in the next half hour.
Yan: In the morning they offered me news, but I refused, someone will say: “Fool”, the one who does not know what I did yesterday and with whom, most likely, I am a supporter of the evening, although it’s even difficult to consider them news, I I would call it a chronicle, and call myself a chronic alcoholic of the very woman that I received every evening, as a divine gift.
Yin: What's the news? I know her?
Yan: I think you're getting jealous?
Yin: Run away. It's not jealousy, it's curiosity.
Yan: There is no reason, I would even say a leash. Briefly speaking. Come, let's watch movies and kiss.
Yin: Yes, I completely forgot, what will you do if I leave tomorrow?
Yan: Where to?
Yin: To my mother.
Yang: I will miss you.
Yin: What else?
Yang: Drink, smoke, work.
Yin: Also.
Yang: I miss you a lot.
Yin: And then?
Yan: And then you will be bored.
* * *
The steel needle glided over the green cloth, trying to cover the distance between people in a shorter way, in order to sew those who had set sail as quickly as possible to those who met them. Boredom drives humanity. People still continue to get bored, moving towards each other. She went to her mother. It was two days to go, but Marina never felt sorry for these vacation days, as she lived them in such a pleasant peace, in thoughts of wide fields outside the window, in long tea parties of villages smoking samovars. Moreover, there was no airport in her hometown, and she would have had to fly first to Nizhnekamsk, and then even to Yelabuga by train or bus with full packages of gifts. Following tradition, she could not return home empty-handed. With an empty heart, yes, but never without gifts. Although the mother, touching and putting them in lockers, deliberately grumbled all the time: “Why are you spending so much, we also have all this.”
Marina liked to fly along the iron ski track, pushing off with sticks of concrete pillars flashing outside the window, then slowing down to Nordic walking, then accelerating, switching to skating. It amused her that, as if obeying the speed of the train, her thoughts also switched from galloping to jogging and vice versa. The road echoed in her head as glued pieces of canvas, as if they were some minor minor inconsistencies that occur from time to time in her life.
In the morning there were two of them in the compartment, when another woman sat down next to her. Middle age, average build, average attractiveness, but high talkativeness. It seemed that her speech competed in speed with the train, which was also awarded the title of ambulance. The ladies have already managed to get to know each other and even pour a couple of glasses of transparent conversation, coasters cut in iron logic, which they kept lifting up every now and then to open their lips and take a sip, but then put them back on the table, not daring to open completely. The middle-aged woman who so elegantly placed her slender figure on the seat opposite was a perfumer:
“Just don’t be offended by me if I poke my nose into other people’s business, this is professional.” The nose is my instrument, I feel people with it. I can't stand lies. I know almost everything about those with whom I communicate or just am nearby. Imagine how hard it is for me to communicate with a person when you know what he ate for lunch or drank for dinner. Do you want me to tell you what you had for breakfast?
“No, I still remember,” Marina remembered about the egg, tea and oatmeal cookies. All this time, the neighbor twisted the balloon in her hands, it grew before our eyes. It soon appeared that there were already three of them in the compartment.
- Your work is interesting. You know everything about everyone, - Marina tried to be hospitable.
Yes, it's not always handy. Yes, and harmful. The liver is already gone. Here, - finally inflating a balloon, on which it was written: "People, love each other," she tied it with a ribbon so that it would not turn sour. – This is what love is. She is like a balloon: big, weightless and attractive. One has only to take it in hand, and immediately you become a person without age, without principles and without restrictions. Take it,” she handed the ball to Marina.