History does not know the subjunctive who said. Subjunctive mood of history

You know, I understand more and more that life is really such an unpredictable thing. Everything will spin, wrap, and then you sit and think how to rake it all. Now I'm thinking more and more about how everything can be turned upside down by the slightest detail, a seemingly insignificant friendly meeting, a wedding, or just a conversation. These are the little situations that can really change everything in a completely different direction. I say this not because I was drawn to philosophize, but because I myself was the heroine of such cases. When everything went as it went, and suddenly one slightest detail and that’s it ... I didn’t live anymore former life.

I remember the day when Cabano and I were sitting in a restaurant on the occasion of our five-year love union, when he suddenly got up and seemed to move a little away to ask for water, and then abruptly turned around and, getting down on one knee, presented me with a ring with a note: "Dear Ruth, would you do me the honor of being my wife?" I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t attack him with joyful exclamations of “yes, I agree”, but on the contrary, I doubted whether it was worth it. I did not feel the desire to become his wife, and in that second I felt completely rejected from him. I literally squeezed out an affirmative answer, but Kabano did not notice this. He probably thought that I was so surprised that I couldn’t even say anything clearly.
That night, I couldn't sleep for a long time. I got up carefully so as not to wake my future husband, poured some sweet tea and sat down at the table. I tried to understand why I did not feel joy from these words, because I love him, and I am sure of it. But something wasn't right. I didn't understand anything. Sip after sip, and thoughts did not change. My internal monologue was very confident, but something… “Do you love him? I love. Do you want to be with him? Of course. Then what's the matter?" and silence. I never fell asleep. The eyes simply did not want to close, and there was so much energy in the body that it was even strange. I worked every day from morning to evening and got tired, sometimes fell down. And this week has been very stressful, and I didn't understand what was going on. In the morning, I nevertheless decided that I might just be in a state of shock, and I was afraid of such a big responsibility. After all family life somewhat different. I have been to my friend's wedding many times. Just recently, Alma and Alvaro got married, they were very sweet. As far as I understand from Alvaro's stories, he has learned to cope with Alma's difficult character, and she is even expecting a little one. And about two years ago, Cabano and I were invited to the wedding of Yoli and Kino. Yes, yes, you heard right. It really is! Having met with Salva for about a year, they still could not find him common language and fled, but remained good friends. And a few months later, Yoli accidentally got to a concert with Kino, because now he is a singer. I also sometimes hear it on the radio and rejoice. They met, talked, and as far as I remember, on the same evening, new feelings flared up in them. This is where it all started. At the wedding itself, when Yoli told me this story, she remarked: “When Kino first came to our class in Zurbaran, I immediately turned to Paula and said:“ Paula, this is my future husband, ”she laughed, but how it turned out that my words became a happy prophecy. We laughed together. But what was interesting was that no one knew anything about Paula and Gorka. We literally lost sight of everything. How they are doing there, no one knows. Yoli said that she tried to contact her and even sent her a wedding invitation, but so far no answers have come, and this is strange. We were worried about them then, but now everyone has their own worries and jobs, so there is no strength to look for them. I periodically call Yoli, Roman, Alma, and David too. I chatted with Kova on Skype recently, she and Julio have also been married for a long time, and they already have two wonderful kids. This couple is just wonderful. I love them very much. Many of my married girlfriends asked me if I would like to marry Kabano. I always smiled and answered that if a man does not call for marriage, it means that he has not yet matured. Yes, we were fine even without marriage. I never envied girls, I was only happy for them, and I myself never even thought about marriage. It wasn't necessary for me. Maybe that's why this proposal shocked me so much that I almost fainted. But one thing I know for sure: I love Cabano. And if he wants to be my husband and wants me to be his wife, so be it. In any case, maybe this is really important. Time will tell.
And a week later, conversations and preparations for the wedding began. My fiancé and I have decided that we don't want to have a grand event with a lavish banquet. We want to see only the closest relatives and friends. A dress and a tuxedo will, of course, be present. I knew exactly what dress I wanted. The wedding was to take place in a month. Therefore, we quickly made invitations, ordered a restaurant, applied, and everything was almost ready. Clara, when she found out about my marriage, was very happy for me. He and Roman promised to come early to help Kabano and me with the preparations. Clara kept asking if I needed help choosing a dress, but I didn't want to choose it with anyone. Only one. And set aside one day for working week I took a day off from work and went with good mood looking for the dress of my dreams. It was a sunny day, warm. I walked slowly, knowing that today I would find what I wanted. But everything changed in one second. Looking a little to the side, I stopped abruptly, the smile on my face disappeared, and I only opened my mouth before realizing that I needed to shout. “Gorka!” I shouted not loudly. He turned around. Yes, it was definitely him. Awesome, that's the meeting! He smiled and walked towards me. We hugged as soon as we got close, and he even kissed me on the cheek. I suggested that we sit somewhere for a cup of coffee and talk.
- Gorka, we haven't seen each other for a long time. How are you?
- Blondie, I don't really want to talk about me. I want to know how you live much more, - answered Gorka.
- Basically, I'm doing very well. I work where I wanted, I make good money, I live with Cabano, and in two weeks I'm marrying him.
- Wow, Ruth, I congratulate you on such a wonderful event! You are so good that you managed to keep your feelings. How about Kabano? I remember he went to England to play his football?
-Yes, but then he returned to me, and now he plays in the local team and is also pleased with the work.
-Great! I'm very happy for you! Do you know how our guys are doing? Do you communicate with them?
Yes, almost everyone. Yoli and Kino also got married...
-What, who? Yoli and Kino? Gorka was extremely surprised, bulging his eyes at me.
- Yes, you can imagine! But they are a great couple. Cova and Julio gave birth to two kids, Alma and Alvaro are also now spouses, and David is now dating someone, but still does not forget about Fera and is very worried about this. Therefore, he does not succeed in long-term relationships, no one can withstand his suffering about the past. And it can be understood. This was a huge loss for all of us, I still sometimes do not believe that he is no more. I often remember him, and I dream of him as cheerful, funny and cool as he always was.
-Yes, Fer was very good guy, albeit a faggot, - Gorka noticed with a little smile. – Yes, I didn’t know much about ours. So everything has changed!
- Gorka, tell me what happened. You don't have a face. Where is Paula, how is Isaac? Everyone tried to contact you, sent invitations to weddings. But you didn't get in touch. What happened?
Gorka hesitated for a long time. It was clear that something was bothering him. And yet he opened up to me.
- Paula and I are no longer together, and probably never will be again. After we went to Madrid, when this freak Enrique decided to close our college, Isaac and I went to Australia. It was good for the three of us. We lived there three years. We did not communicate with any of ours. That's probably why no one could find us. Paula and I worked there, rented a house, Isaac grew up healthy and a little mischievous. But these are trifles. All was good. We felt comfortable and at ease there. But there was one situation in which I completely lost my vigilance and reason, and did such things that I reproach myself because of this. At one time I worked as a taxi driver. Usually I worked until the evening, but that evening there were so many orders that I had to stay late. And my last challenge was one girl. I picked her up at the specified address, she was in an evening dress and drunk enough. She had to be taken quite far, and all the way she told me about how her fiancé cheated on her with her girlfriend that evening and said that he was leaving her because she was too correct. And it does not suit him. In general, there is a whole Santa Barbara. And she was crying so much, I had to calm her down a bit. By the time I drove her to the house, it was already quite late. I thought that Paula was already worried, and on way back I will definitely call her and let her know that I'm on my way home. But this girl still didn't get out of the car. When I finally said that I needed to go home, she immediately left. I exhaled and immediately dialed my wife. She had a bit of a fight about why I didn't call her earlier. As soon as I let go of the phone from my ear, the car door immediately opened and this girl ran into me with a kiss. I was so taken aback that I did not even immediately understand what was happening and who it was. She kissed me so passionately and so hard that I could not even immediately push her away. But as soon as she unhooked, I didn’t even have time to put in a word, as she climbed on top of me with the words: “I want you so much, if you only knew. I've been waiting for this all evening! And I always dreamed of making love in the car. And kissed again. And that's when I realized what the hell was going on. I immediately pushed her away and literally pushed her out of the car. He closed the door and left quickly. On the way, I thought of only one thing, if only Paula could hang up before this crazy woman climbed on top of me with such words. But it didn't! I didn’t have time to go to the threshold, as Paula, in tears and snot, threw all my things into the suitcase. I immediately understood what she heard. I tried to explain everything to her, but I didn’t even listen, she screamed and cried. She kicked me out, beat me, called me last words. But the worst thing is that at that moment Isaac stood at the door of his room and saw and heard everything. When I saw him, I just froze. I still can't forgive myself that he saw it. I'm an idiot! I had to take Paula out of the house and try to talk to her there. But then I didn’t even think about my son when I tried to justify myself. I do not know how Paula later explained this incident to Isaac, but after that I could not see him. That night I went to a friend's house and spent the night with him. The next day, I showed up at her place of work and pulled her out to talk. We didn't really talk like that. But at least she listened to me. I explained everything to her, to which she said only three words: “I don’t believe you.” After these words, I realized that she would not forgive me, tears welled up in my eyes. I was so afraid of what she would say next. "Don't cry, it won't help. And do not expect that after this you will see your son. I don't want him to hang out with a traitor dad." “Paula,” I just flared up after these words, “this is cruel! Why is Isaac here? I am innocent before you and before God! How will you explain to him that I am not there: will you say that you have flown into space? She just turned away and left. In the evening I received a text message from her: “I will never forgive you! And I will allow you to see Isaac, but a little later. Now go to Madrid and get your divorce papers ready. Let me know as soon as they're ready." And here I am. Papers are being prepared. But I still believe in my heart that she will change her mind. And I will try not to miss this chance when she takes the divorce papers in her hands. I feel really bad, literally falling apart. I haven't seen my son in such a long time and no news of how he feels. And that makes it even worse. Well, now you know. What do you say?
I didn't say anything, I just took his hand in support. He covered his face with his hands so as not to show tears. I saw how much he was in pain. But she couldn't help him. And then the thought occurred to me: to take him with me to choose my wedding dress. Although I did not want to do this with anyone, I thought, why not. It's Gorka! When he calmed down a bit, I told him my idea and he agreed. Shopping is always distracting. Should I not know this! And in fact, we went to many different shops, and tried on at least 50 dresses, but I did not like any of them. It didn't even have what I needed. There was the last store that I had the strength to go to. Gorka courageously walked with me, at first we even had fun and made fun, laughed and smiled. Gorka even got a little distracted and cheered up. Oddly enough, but it was in the last store that I immediately saw what I needed! I immediately grabbed this dress and ran to the fitting room. When I came out of there, Gorka seemed to be speechless, and when I did ask his opinion, he only replied: "I have never seen you so beautiful." It was clear that this was it! Dress, I mean. I nodded, smiling slightly. Went back to the dressing room. I stood near the mirror, admiring myself. The dress was exactly what I needed. After this store, Gorka was kind of taciturn, I tried to cheer him up a little. But something didn't work. By evening, we decided to remember our youth: we bought various fast food, came to the park, sat on a bench and talked about everything. It was very tasty. I haven't eaten this kind of food in so long, but it reminded me of college, friends, love. It was on this basis that Gorka and I began to recall the past: our love, relationships, a psychiatric hospital, and how he pulled me out of there, and how many fights there were with Kabano because of me. It was nice to remember. And after some silence, Gorka suddenly spoke again, looking at me with such clear eyes: “You know, Ruth, I loved you so much, despite all the shit that I did to you, I did not stop loving you. Yes, I was an idiot and a traitor, but I loved you, even though I did not tell you this. I remember the most memorable moment for me when you met with Cabano, and we put on a play with Miguel. You and I almost kissed there, and then Cabano and I got into a fight. I was then ready to give everything, just to be alone with you and kiss with all my heart. And when I brought you to bulimia, I couldn’t find a place for myself, even though I behaved as if I didn’t care. Then at home I cried and beat the pillow with my hands from what I did to you. All this time I loved you very much. And on that day at the picnic, I was ready to gouge out my eyes just so as not to see you with Kabano. I felt so bad. And then Paula ... well, and then you know ... don’t think, I also love Paula very much, and I can’t imagine my life without Isaac. I changed with her. But if it wasn't for the baby and Paula, I wouldn't have left you. Before her, you were my only and strongest love. I would fight for you to the last drop. And in that case, things could have turned out differently. But, as you know, life does not tolerate subjunctive mood. Just by virtue of the fact that we remember the past, I just wanted you to know this. You, Ruth, were my first love, and it never goes unnoticed." With these words, he took a sip of fanta. And I looked at him and could not believe that I was hearing this from Gorka. Gorka, who was always stingy with words of love or tenderness, who could only sting and offend. How has he changed! I looked at him with such surprise that he noticed it and turned to me too. And then darkness. I don't remember how it happened, but we kissed. Just as pure and gentle as it used to be, when Gorka hadn't done me any nasty things yet. It was the best thing I've experienced in the past few months. Yes, and even the fact that Cabano proposed to me could not be compared with this kiss. Gorka and I understood that this kiss meant nothing, it was just a splash of memories. But it really brought me back to Zurbaran, even if only for a few minutes. And it was excellent. After that, we still sat and remembered the teachers: Olimpia, Irene, Blanca, Rocky, Adolfo, Clara, Miguel, Martin. Reminiscent of funny moments and sad ones. Almost no one knows anything about them after Zurbaran was shut down and everyone graduated from their colleges. But it's enough that we remember them. It was getting late and it was time to go home. I invited Gorka to come and say hello to Kabano, but he refused. And we peacefully dispersed. All the way home, I remembered the words of Gorka: "You, Ruth, were my first love, but it does not pass without a trace." What do they mean? And that kiss. Although I say that it did not mean anything, but how then to explain the feelings that I suddenly felt during the kiss and after it. Now I remember it as something extraordinary. And I want to repeat. Feel it again and again. I want everything! Maybe if he didn't have Paula and Isaac, I could drop everything and go back to him, and even leave Kabano at this stage. But… Lord, what am I talking about. I'm getting married! I can't think like that, it's wrong and vile! But today it seemed to me for a second that ... that I still love Gorka and am ready to go with him to the ends of the world if he calls.
So the day of my wedding came. Everyone unanimously tells me that this is the happiest day of my life, but there is no smile on my face. I always remember our kiss with Gorka and think that it was not accidental. But I can’t say anything to Kabano either, he will kill both me and him. I understand that I can’t change everything now or hope for something, but I can’t get rid of these thoughts. And now it's nine in the morning. In an hour, my fiancé will arrive, and we will go to paint and promise each other to be always and everywhere together. Relatives, Clara, Roman, Yoli, are rushing around. They don't seem to notice me, but it only makes me feel better. No need to explain why I'm not happy. Lord, what is life? It's not all thank God!
Everything! We stand before the face of God and now we will give each other oaths. I love Cabano, of course. But thoughts of Gorka won't let me go. By the way, he promised to come to our ceremony, but I don't see him. There are not many people, so it is easy to calculate.
- Do you agree, Quintana Gomez Ruth, to marry Caesar Cabano? the woman said. And I clench all my will into a fist to answer in the affirmative and smile, but not a single part of my body gives in to me.
"Yes," I said uncertainly, but clearly. There were tears in my eyes.
- Do you agree, Caesar Cabano, to take Quintano Gomez Ruth as your legal wife?
-I agree! Kabano replied idly, unlike me.
We exchanged rings, and when Cabano was about to kiss me, he saw that I couldn't stop crying.
- Ruth, dear, you are now my wife, I love you very much, and you made me the most happy man in the world. Please stop crying, even though they are tears of joy, it hurts me to see! And then he kissed me. Shouts, screams, congratulations were heard all around. Everyone gave me flowers. I began to smile a little. But my face lit up as soon as I saw Gorka among the crowd, who was making his way towards me. We made eye contact and I was as happy as ever.
- Hi, Ruth! Sorry I'm a little late! Congratulations, my dear, you are now a legal wife! If there is a loved one nearby, then this will be a happy time!
I didn’t have time to answer him, as all our friends flew at him with questions. They were so happy to see him that I was touched by them. Of course he won't tell anyone else. sad story. I realized that it becomes easier for me when I know that he is just somewhere nearby. I left the registry office more than happy. Finally, I could smile genuinely and look like a real bride. Now I can do it without difficulty.
All my closest people came to my wedding: Alma with Alvaro, Yoli with Kino, and she was my witness, David with Andrian (this is David's new friend), Kova with Julio, Clara with Roman. Everyone was so happy, and I was happy too, because I knew that Gorka was somewhere nearby. Cabano did not leave me a single step, and all the time whispered in my ear that he loved me so much and he was happy as never before. I smiled and replied that I did too. And I didn’t lie, but what made me so happy? This is exactly what I didn't understand. But it didn't matter. Nothing should have ruined the day. When the holiday was in full swing, Cabano and I were sitting and talking about something, as I felt that someone approached us. It was Gorka. He stood right above me and smiled.
- Kabano, may I invite your lady to one innocent dance? Gorka said with a smile.
-I allow it, - Kabano also answered with a smile.
Gorka held out his hand to me, and I immediately gave him mine in return. We went to dance. I saw that even though Kabano himself agreed, he was watching me intently. After all, he also remembered everything.
- Ruth.. I know that today is not the right day for my words. But I couldn't wait any longer, and everything will be as you say. I constantly think about you, and I don’t know what to do with myself from this, - he raised his sad eyes to me. “Don’t think, I haven’t stopped loving Paula, but I can’t cool down to you either.
- Gorka, the same thing is happening to me. I don't know what's happening to us. Maybe we should step back a bit so that someone won't hear us?
I deliberately invited him to leave, because my urine was not strong enough to endure. We left the restaurant and walked a little further, there was some kind of small building. I offered to talk to him. But as soon as we turned the corner, I pushed Gorka against the wall with force and kissed him passionately. I just couldn't take it anymore! I so wanted to feel it again. And I completely lost my mind that I could not control my actions. I understood that I had just got married, and what I was doing was just disgusting. But after what Gorka had said, I didn't want to waste any more time. Our kiss lasted several minutes, I just could not tear myself away, but Gorka did not resist, but only answered me with a double reciprocity. But I already knew what would happen next. "Gorka, dear! You know, I thought a lot about you and me. But I'm already married, you have a child. And our young love should stay in Zurbaran, so we should not see each other anymore. I beg you, go away! ”, - I said this with tears, and immediately ran away. There is nothing sacred in me: I cheated on the groom, then immediately on my husband on the wedding day. Lord, I don't feel guilty about it! But nothing, Cabano will never know about it, because I still love him.
It's been about a week. I felt very bad. She was sad and dissatisfied all the time. With Cabano, of course, I tried to hold on, but as soon as I managed to be alone, I cried. I really missed Gorka. Then at the wedding, I also forced a smile out of myself, and could not believe what I managed to do. But this story wasn't over yet. When I began to feel better, I threw myself into work. She came home from work, lay down in the hands of Kabano and immediately fell asleep. I didn't feel like eating or drinking. But it was a great weekend. Kabano offered to go to unwind, take a walk, sit in a cafe. After all, we spend so little time together. I agreed. But this walk turned out to be a real fear for me. When we walked in the city center in an embrace, laughed and kissed. I finally began to feel drawn to my husband, I realized that I love him more than anyone else. But how wrong I was! Suddenly Kabano shouted almost in my ear: “Gorka! Slide! Come to us!". I turned my head in horror, and there stood Gorka. He was talking to someone, and was about to approach. I immediately realized that now everything will start anew. And that's what I didn't want more than anything. I convulsively turned to Kabano: “Let's leave! Go here! Come on, let's not say hello to him! ”, But my husband did not understand what happened to me at that moment. Gorka came up merry and looked at me the way he looked at me only once: when he told me his feelings that evening on the bench. I looked at him a little uncertainly and could not help but admit that ... and I love him too. And I love him too! My God, it's unbearable to love both! But one of them is my husband! I have broken his heart so many times that I cannot leave him even now, when he swore eternal love to me.
-Gorka, I, like, love you! - I said, a little breathless with passion and pleasure.
- In me, too, something was reborn for you, - answered Gorka.
It kind of happened by itself. Of course we met in the evening, of course we kissed, of course we ended up in a hotel in each other's arms, of course ... and this, again, is the best thing that happens to me. I feel so good! God, poor Cabano! I love him, but I don't get the same inspiration from him. Our meetings became more and more frequent. And I understood more and more that I love Gorka more than Kabano. But at the same time, I clearly understood that I couldn’t leave Kabano either, I couldn’t be with Gorka. His fate is Paula and Isaac, and mine is Cabano. I'm married. Damn, this is so hard. What am I doing! It's been over a month. Gorka and I saw each other almost every evening, rented a hotel room and loved each other. The most interesting thing is that on his part there was such reciprocity, which I never received from him. And it flattered me, it pushed me even more towards him. At night I often cried, because, returning from Gorka's bed, I went to bed with Kabano. I felt like the last creature, but I could not stop. I just went with the flow. Over time, I noticed that Cabano did not look at me, avoided talking. I realized that he was offended by me. “You see someone every day, you come late, you don’t tell me anything! Do you see him, Gorka? Tell me honestly, are you dating?”, “Kabano, honey, what are you talking about! I haven't seen him for a very long time! I see my friends,” I blatantly lied, looking into his eyes. And what is worse than all this, looking into my eyes, he believed. He pursed his lips, but believed. I think he just wants to believe it. Gorka naturally knew nothing about my experiences. But this fairy tale had to end sometime. On one of our evenings, Gorka said:
- I was informed today that the divorce papers are ready. You need to call Paula and tell her to come and sign them.
- Do you want her back? I asked a little apprehensively.
-Ruth...
-Answer! I need to know!
-Of course I want! My son is there, and I still love Paula even though I also love you.
-Gorka, I think that we need to leave. I think about it all the time, but the thought makes me twitch and I can't stop, - I answered in a tearful voice.
- Ruth, I also think all the time that we need to stop this sooner or later, but I can't even think about it.
I hugged him so tightly because I was really afraid that this would all end at any moment. I was afraid, but at the same time I wanted it. This time I came home all upset and burst into tears, right at the door. I didn't think Cabano was at home. Today I came back earlier than usual. “What, did you break up with Gorka?” - I heard from behind. I turned around, a sullen husband was standing in the doorway of the room. He looked at me and waited for an answer. "What are you talking about?" Wiping my tears, I replied. "I know you were with him!" Kabano shouted unexpectedly and very loudly. "Why are you screaming like that!" “Because what are you doing?! We just got married, what the hell are you doing?" I covered my face with my hands and cried even harder. I only heard Cabano sigh and go somewhere. And I remained in the corridor sitting and sobbing with all my might. He knows everything. Why didn’t he immediately kick me out, didn’t say that he was leaving? Why is he so calm? Even strange. But I was not up to it! I was so killed by his speech that it seemed to me that it was not enough for me to die.

That night I slept on the couch. During the whole evening Cabano never approached me. And I tried to avoid him. I was so embarrassed in front of him. But for tomorrow, Gorka and I had already agreed to see each other, and I had no idea to refuse or cancel. For some reason, I was even more looking forward to the next evening. Waiting to see him and hug him. I think that was already the end. Cabano, I think, will not forgive me for this. And if Paula forgives Gorka, I won't be able to stay with him. I will stay alone. But if so, so be it.

And then came the turning point that broke me completely. I was waiting for this evening like manna from heaven. Sitting at work, I couldn't think about anything else. I was pulled, something was needed all the time, and sometimes I just wanted to get up and get out of there. I dreamed of seeing Gorka. I already imagined how his hands would take me into their arms, I would breathe, and I would feel so good that it would not get better. Then kiss, and I will know that happiness loves me. I really went too far in my dreams. I completely forgot about Cabano. It didn’t matter to me what would happen next, I was worried about only one thing - Gorka. I allowed myself to leave work half an hour early, because I simply could not be there anymore. The atmosphere suffocated me and there was absolutely not enough air. It's a disgusting feeling. Too disgusting to endure. And not only did I leave, I ran away from work. Coming out into the air, I seemed to take a sip of a life-giving elixir, it was an unforgettable feeling. Something incredible happened to me. I did not recognize myself, or my feelings, or my behavior. Like I'm not me. I thought about this on the way to our hotel with Gorka. We met there every day. I went inside.
-Girl, the man booked room 345. Is he already here?
-Hello. What don't you know?
My eyes widened.
-What? I asked extremely surprised.
-This man was hit by a car near our hotel today. You know, it was such a horror. I don't think he will survive, she said playfully.
This woman continued to talk something else, but I did not hear anything.
-What hospital? – Interrupting her, I asked loudly. My heart was ready to jump out of my chest. I was scared and shaking all over my body.
-15 like.
I quickly ran outside. Tears involuntarily rolled down his face. I was so scared. There were so many thoughts in my head that my head immediately ached. Words cannot describe how I feel when you are told that your loved one may not survive. Sitting in a taxi, for several minutes I could not clearly say where to take me. The taxi driver, probably, did not even understand who sat next to him: crazy or hysterical. But I didn't care. All the way I dreamed of only one thing, if only he was alive. If only he was alive! If only everything was good. I just prayed. I was in hysterics. I didn't know what to do with the pain. I was so scared that my hands were shaking when I handed the money to the taxi driver. I jumped out of the taxi with such force that everyone turned around. Rushed to the hospital like the wind. But the worst was yet to come. "Where? Where? They brought a man ... his car was hit ... a black one like that. The nurse hardly understood what I wanted from her. I was suffocating from tears, from shortness of breath, I could not even pronounce the words clearly. “Girl, calm down, please. He's in intensive care. They are trying to save his life, everything is very serious and difficult there.” At the mere thought that he might die, everything turned upside down inside. I ran to the third floor, the tears did not stop flowing, I could no longer run, my strength was gone. I walked and thought how they would tell me now that he was alive and everything would be fine with him. I asked a nurse passing by where I should go next. And here is this corner, behind which, perhaps, there is a doctor who can tell me everything. I walk, trying to wipe my tears to look decent. But as soon as I go around the corner, I see Poole there with a child. I was so taken aback that I immediately went back. From unexpected meeting I got so sick. Everything! I realized that this was the end. Hearing the sound of the door opening, I looked out slightly and saw the doctor leave the room. “You, as I understand it, are your wife? Your husband is in a very serious condition, literally on the verge of death. We will try to do our best, everything in our power. But I can't promise you anything. Now he is in a coma, and only God knows how long he will stay there. But once again, we will do our best.” I heard Paula crying. "Can we visit him?", "I don't think it's a good idea for a child, it's not very pretty." When I heard footsteps, I realized that the doctor had left. "Isaac, honey, sit here for a couple of minutes, I'll go to my dad and say a few words to him." "Tell dad that I love him and may he get well, please." “Okay, son, I’ll definitely pass it on.” I couldn't calm down. How I would like to go to him now, hug him, kiss him and tell him that I love him. It was terribly painful that now it is not available to me. Now Paula will be with him, and she will never divorce him now. Just thinking that I can no longer be with him, I was torn to pieces. I covered my face with my hands and cried so hard that I couldn’t breathe, where did I get so much water from. It was such a strong tantrum that it really started to cause breathing problems. I began to feel salty tears flowing into my mouth non-stop. And the worst thing is that I felt so bad that I wanted to fall through the ground. I slid down the wall, put my face on my knees and started crying even harder. I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming in pain and resentment. It seemed that I was about to slip off, run to him and spit on Paulo. But I had to hold on, for his sake, and for the sake of their family. Suddenly, I felt someone grab my hands tightly and lift me up. I raised my tear-stained eyes up, and it was... Kabano. I couldn't even say a word. But he didn't want to hear anything. He just picked me up and carried me down. I hugged him, buried my face in his shirt, which I once gave him for his birthday, and burst into tears again. I realized that he was following me. He knows everything. After leaving the hospital, he put me in the car. Sat nearby. He just looked at me and hugged me. I cried again and squeezed him as hard as I could. I didn't know how much he knows. We sat there for about half an hour. I couldn't calm down for a long time. Tears did not stop: they flowed at the mere thought that Paula was now kissing Gorka, who was on the verge of death. And that thought never left my mind. The soul was torn to pieces. I didn't care what I thought about it when I hugged my husband who came and picked me up. We were silent on the way home. I looked out the window, sometimes forgetting where I was going. At home, Cabano, without saying a word, put me to bed.
In the morning I woke up from a terrible dream that Gorka was dying. I slept badly all night. I had nightmares, tears and Gorka. I periodically woke up in a sweat, went to wash and drink. Then she fell asleep, and again these terrible dreams. Getting up at night, I did not have a thought to see where Cabano is, and how he generally feels when his wife is killed because of her lover. To be honest, I could not understand him, what logic he follows. But now and not before. When I opened my eyes, a ray of sunlight hit me in the eye, and I immediately closed my eyes. I realized that I was sleeping alone on our bed with Cabano. But where is he? I walked around the apartment, he was sitting in the kitchen.
- You don't look well, you should wash up, then come to have breakfast.
From his intonation and glance to the side, it was clear that he did not enjoy talking to me. I didn't ask anything, I just listened. Entering the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a red swollen face, which I myself felt disgusted with. I looked like a snowman. I immediately remembered the case when I also looked at myself in the mirror and saw the ugly thing that Gorka inspired me. I broke the glass with my hand, which made me bleed. He then took me to the hospital. And again in Gorka's thoughts. Damn, tears again. God, how is he? What about him? But no, you can't cry now. Now, probably, Kabano will tell me something, I should be at least a little in shape. I clenched all my strength into a fist and held back my tears. I washed my face. Went out to the kitchen. There was coffee and pancakes. I have always loved them, and Cabano often made them for me. Why is he doing this? Is this a festival of joys before the finale? Or is it pressure on me to make things worse? Or is it a sign of love? Now I know. I sat down, but I couldn't get a piece down my throat. I took a sip of coffee and felt nauseous.
-Maybe we should talk? I said quietly, realizing that Cabano would not start the conversation first.
"Let's talk," I could clearly hear the anger in his voice.
-Kabano… - I started, but immediately interrupted me.
- No, Ruth, I'll start. When you answered me "yes" to my proposal, I thought that this is what I have always dreamed of. I thought that our life would be like a fairy tale. When I saw you in your wedding dress, I thought that better girls and could not find in my life. But what happened to you after the wedding is still a mystery to me. I thought it was wrong? Do you love me? And I remember exactly your eyes every time you said you loved me. And I know for sure that you didn't lie. But why are you doing this? Maybe I just saw what I wanted to see? Or was he just so in love with you that he didn’t even notice that you blatantly lied to me? And why, then, did you marry me? I should have left me, and it would have been easier for me, - I started crying because he was so right that I felt like a bastard, - For a whole month I could not understand what was happening to you. Every day you went somewhere, turned off the phone, came so late that you didn’t even eat. At first I believed that you were with your friends, but then I realized that you had never walked with them like that. And I went to the extreme, I had to follow you, and then I got very drunk when I realized what was happening. As soon as I saw that you were with Gorka, I had no doubt that you were cheating on me. You have never been friends with Gorka so closely. I followed you for a whole week, and each time I did not understand how you are not ashamed to go to bed with him, and then with me. I went to sleep on the couch in the middle of the night because I was sick of the fact that you smell like another man. But I endured. I do not know why. Maybe I love you so much that I had illusions that you would improve? I don't know, I can't tell you. And when you returned then in tears, I thought that you had finally parted. It wasn't in my mind to leave you or get a divorce. I love you so much that I am ready to forgive you if you change your mind and come back to me. But the next day you went somewhere again, and I decided that today would be the final. I’ll come to you so that you don’t lie to me later, and so that I myself don’t think later if I was wrong. When you entered the hotel, and then ran out of it, as if scalded in tears, I was frightened. The woman at the reception immediately gave me everything as it is. I also went to the hospital. I myself was frightened both for Gorka and for you. When I went up to the third floor and saw you sitting against the wall and crying, I realized that now is your chance to fix everything, and I will give it to you. If you decide to stay with me, I will accept you. But don't do something for me, do what you feel.
I sobbed and looked at him. These days are the hardest for me.
“K… Kabano,” I tried to speak clearly, but nothing came out because of hysteria, “forgive me, I beg you!” You said everything right. I'm a traitor and a bastard for doing this to you. But believe me, I myself did not understand what I was doing. We've come too far to just stop. We knew it would all end. And it happened. Here it is: Hill in the hospital on the verge of death, Paula arrived with Isaac. And now I know that this turn was the last. I beg your forgiveness. Believe me, I didn't lie to you about love. I really loved you and love you now. But I got confused. I do not know what to do.
- Ruth, don't ask me for forgiveness, I told you everything I wanted to say. I have nothing more to add. I'll leave today and spend the night with a friend, and you sit alone, think about what you need and what you don't. Just please do your best.
He got up and just left. He's good at holding on. But I don't understand how he can forgive me if I can't forgive myself. After lying on the sofa for about an hour in deep thought about everything: about Gorka, about the words of Kabano, about myself, I decided everything for myself. I decided as my husband said, honestly. And I was sure of it and knew that it was right for me and for all those who were involved in this. I had to go to Gorka, because he, too, should have known about my choice.
I was very careful not to accidentally run into Paula. But when she entered the room, she was not there. Gorka was already conscious. He was covered in tubes and his face was completely bandaged. I went to him, he could not move, and could barely speak.
- Gorka, dear, I came to tell you some news. You don't have to say anything, just listen. Yesterday, when I found out that you were hit by a car, I thought that it would be easier for me to die myself, if only everything was fine with you. I rushed to the hospital with one thought, if only you were alive. But when I was almost at your place, I saw Paula and Isaac. She won't leave you for anything in this situation. From here Cabano took me. He knows everything about us. And today he told me that he was ready to forgive me if I myself returned to him. You know, it's hard for me to say this, - tears came to my eyes, and my voice buckled, - but I think that this is exactly the case when we are destined to part forever. Both you and I knew that this could not last forever, we still could not be together. You love Paula and won't let her go, but I still love Cabano and am also not ready to leave him. I'm sorry that everything happened so tragically, but since fate so decreed. This is our last meeting. I won't come to you again. Please don't tell Paula about us or you'll lose her. I sincerely wish that she still forgives you, and that you stay together, and that you get better soon. Know that I loved and love you, but this will soon pass.
When I spoke, he did not take his eyes off me. I saw without words that he understands and supports me. He slow motion put his crippled hand on mine and quietly, barely audibly, tried to say: “My b-lon-di-night, I love you and let go with God.” I kissed him for the last time and ran out of the room. I was covered again, but I quickly gathered myself and wiped away my tears. Leaving the hospital, I felt extraordinary relief and lightness. It was as if a huge burden had been lifted from me, which I had been carrying for like a month. I even smiled. Paula was walking towards me, she was very glad to see me. We hugged.
-Ruth! Did you come to Gorka?
- Yes, I accidentally found out that trouble had happened to him and came to visit.
-It's so awful. I was miraculously here when they called me, and I immediately rushed to him.
-At the wedding did he mention that you're not okay?
- Yes, but she went out there bad situation, but when he was not with me, I realized that I could not live without him and Isaac needed a father. Wait, what wedding?
-Don't you know, Kabano and I got married. And I met Gorka by chance on the street, and he did not manage to get rid of me.
-Wow! I congratulate you! You are great!
We sat on a bench near the hospital and I told her everything she had missed. To be honest, it was hard for me to talk to her as if nothing had happened. After all, I brazenly lied that I accidentally found out that Gorka was in the hospital, that we had no problems with Kabano. I still felt like an asshole. Lie after lie, and so the chain stretched. Maybe someday she will find out about us, but I hope not soon.
To make it easier for me, I went to church. I lit a candle, remembered my parents, talked to the priest, confessed to him, and he forgave me all my sins. Now I could go to my husband. I called Cabano and said that the choice had been made. We met.
-Kabano, honey, I've decided everything. I am confident in my choice. I did what is best for me. I went to Gorka and told him that I would be with you in sorrow and in joy, as we promised at the wedding, and Paula and Isaac returned to him. I hope they will be happy when Gorka gets better. And I went to church and confessed, and it became easier for me when God forgave me. Now I need you to forgive me, if you haven't changed your mind.
- You know, Ruth, I love you too much to change my mind. I forgive you, but know that I will not forget what you arranged so quickly. You will have to be patient for everything to return to normal.
- I'm ready to wait, dear, as long as you like.

Over time, I realized that Gorka was and remains my weakness, as well as I am for him. That's what threw us off track, and that kiss on the bench. I have always loved Cabano a little more than Gorka. And I understand this only when there is no Gorka nearby. It was originally so, and so it will remain. But I hope that I will not make such blunders on my part again. Now I know that Kabano is the best husband in the world. He is a hero who was able to forgive me for treason. Everything returned to normal after three months, and we even began to spend more time together. I love my husband without memory, he also loves me, and the fruit of our love is slowly growing inside me.

Among the many quotes historical figures and politicians one of the most famous is this: "History does not tolerate the subjunctive mood." Many attribute its authorship to Joseph Stalin, which is confirmed in writing. But he was not the first to use it, and not in the exact wording. It's in more is the result of adaptation in translation from German and its modernisation. But the meaning of the expression should be extremely clear to each of its readers.

Expression authorship

The author of the statement "History does not tolerate the subjunctive mood" is the Heidelberg professor Karl Hampe. But in his formulation, only the meaning of the expression is captured, although it is written differently. On the German it looks like "Die Geschichte kennt kein Wenn". allows you to get the expression "History does not know the word if". Also, Joseph Stalin used this phrase in a conversation with Emil Ludwig, a writer from Germany. In his interpretation, it sounds like "History does not know the subjunctive mood."

The meaning of the statement

The traditional content of the phrase is a Russian adaptation of an expression by Karl Hampe. As it happened in history and before, similar expressions and quotes are expressed by several people, which is not a fact of plagiarism. JV Stalin used it in the context of a certain topic of conversation with the writer. Although, of course, for Joseph Vissarionovich it meant the same thing as for Karl Hampe.

The expression "History does not tolerate the subjunctive mood" has a very simple meaning. It lies in the fact that historical science cannot use "if". How scientific discipline, it must take into account the facts documented or described by contemporaries. She needs to accept evidence from research and avoid ambiguous interpretations using the malicious "if." Historical events really took place, and now only their actual consequences are important. It doesn't matter what would happen if...

Historical hypotheses and assumptions

Many far-fetched and, it seems, quite implausible hypotheses remain unproven and are suitable only for works of art historical subjects, which is also useful as an exercise for the mind. But in official politics or science, if-based hypotheses cannot be applied. Declaring that history does not tolerate the subjunctive mood, and meant. And in the case of I. V. Stalin, there is a clear need to openly acknowledge the sacrifices that had to be made in order to establish the power of the proletariat.

In a conversation with E. Ludwig, the leader of the USSR also recognized as an indisputable fact all the events of the First World War, sincerely believing that things should not come to a second such catastrophe. He was well aware that the phenomena and events that took place in history had already happened, and due to a revision of the point of view regarding them, the essence would not change.

History does not tolerate the subjunctive mood. Who said this phrase is no longer important. It is a so-called bastard quote, but it describes as accurately as possible the only correct approach to the study of this science and the interpretation of its facts.

The problem of modernity

Today very developed national movements in various small states and provinces major countries. In an effort to gain more freedom in international politics or to give weight to their statements, their leaders try to use distorted historical facts. Often in the course of distortion or opposition, the subjunctive mood appears. Sometimes even without it, some activists or simply illiterate people manages to achieve it.

But it should be remembered that history does not tolerate the subjunctive mood. Therefore, the easiest way to cooperate on equal terms in international relations is to acknowledge your history. It is not ideal and noble in any state. And there is a possibility that the new political regime can reshape it again to fit new realities, using a useless "if".

More precisely, skillful speculation with history can bring some short-lived advantages. But this is dishonorable in relation to society itself, which is simply impossible to deceive forever. By accepting your history and the mistakes of your ancestors, you can avoid them in the future. By evading reality and using "if only", more mistakes can be made.

This is the process that should be most feared, and countries and regimes that allow history to be revised in order to increase the role of their state cannot be trusted. There are facts and events that it is pointless to deny, because they are from textbooks and public opinion it's just not possible to remove it. And the statement that history does not tolerate the subjunctive mood should become an indicator that we all accept the reality of the past as it was.

Alex Bor

History knows no subjunctive mood...
(review of the book "Reconnaissance in force")

Vasily Zvyagintsev. Reconnaissance in force: a novel. - M., EKSMO-Press, 1998. - (Absolute weapon) 30 thousand copies.

History, as you know, does not know the subjunctive mood. A scientist-historian deals with a document, studies the events that took place, and should not ask himself the question: "What would happen if ..." What would happen if Napoleon won the war with Russia ... If would not happen October revolution... If the white movement had won ... Science fiction is a kind of direction in literature in which these questions are quite appropriate.

In the early 90s, Vasily Zvyagintsev's novel "Odysseus Leaves Ithaca" was published, which tells how four earthlings unexpectedly found themselves involved in the "showdown" of two "cool" galactic civilizations - aggres and forzeils. And the "guys" began a fun life: chases, skirmishes, moving in space and time. And, as an indispensable tribute to the country that broke out sexual revolution- alien beauties in bed. One of the four was even lucky enough to be in Stalin's "skin" and, like a true intellectual of the sixties, he decided not to wait for the fateful twentieth party congress, and began to resolutely fight against the manifestations of the cult of his personality and its - cult - consequences. And even tried to "replay" the Great Patriotic War, to complete it by the winter of 1941 - however, unsuccessfully: the aliens prevented ...

"Reconnaissance in force" - the continuation of the "Odyssey ..." and the continuation of the fun life of the "magnificent four" - or rather, together with women - already eight. Fate and cosmic forces throw our knights without fear and reproach in 1920, and our heroes, without understanding whether the Reality is true before them or in some way a game of imagination, unfold a stormy activity to rid Russia of the yoke of Bolshevism. Using their knowledge of strategy and tactics of the late twentieth century, they help Baron Wrangel to defeat the red regiments in the Crimea, launch an offensive and go to Kursk. (It is known that in our reality the army " supreme ruler South of Russia" was utterly defeated by the Red Army under the strict leadership of Frunze and Trotsky). Then, leaving Baron Wrangel to miss close proximity from the Bolshevik capital, our heroes themselves penetrate Moscow and, also on the basis of knowledge of the strategy and tactics of a later time, develop a plan to storm the Kremlin, followed by an assault on the Kremlin, followed by the destruction of the communist leaders. However, the Cheka does not sleep ... but what is the Cheka against people from the future armed with Kalashnikov assault rifles and full ammunition from the ninja arsenal? Force, of course, is not on the side of the glorious Chekists. As a result of street fighting, some of the security officers were killed, and the survivors, led by the cunning Agranov (a real historical person), accept the conditions of our valiant four fighters for a bright anti-communist future for Russia. As a result, Chekists begin to work in right direction, that is, instead of fighting the counter-revolution, the fight against the revolution begins. Cloak and dagger knights carefully arrest those prominent figures communist party and Soviet state, which over time will have to bring Comrade Stalin to power, and then, as a token of gratitude, die in the cellars of the Lubyanka. “All the same, they will be shot,” our heroes argue, “what difference does it make when this happens, now, or fifteen years later ...”

And history changes its course: half of the party is arrested and awaiting trial, iron felix dies at the hands of mercenaries of imperialism, the leader of the revolution, Ulyanov-Lenin, dies of a heart attack four years ahead of schedule, and he is buried without a mausoleum, and Leon Trotsky becomes the General Secretary of the party - not without the help of our heroes, of course, - Leon Trotsky, who, in order to maintain his power , concludes, under the dictation of "progressors" from the future, an agreement on mutual recognition with Wrangel standing at the walls of the Kremlin, and the whole world, with bated breath, is waiting for how the peaceful coexistence of two Russian states with different social order. A kind of North and South Korea. (Well, how can one not recall the plans of the elusive Masons and other enemies of Russia to dismember Mother Russia?) The game turns out to be interesting, isn't it? It is not known, however, who outplayed whom: whites of reds, reds of whites, aliens of earthlings, or earthlings of aliens ...

And yes, it came out weird. alternative history, connected with the militant. And the militant clearly prevails. The heroes of the novel tirelessly fire at White light like a pretty penny, killing right and left hated by them (and, apparently, by the author himself) Bolsheviks. But this is done without anger and hatred, and one might even say, easily, playfully, with jokes, jokes and gags, as if they are not killing people, but playing "Zarnitsa" ... However, somewhere in the middle of the novel, the author, apparently, I felt that in the heat of the hunt for the Bolsheviks, I went too far and tried to get away from the excessive gaiety of the story. However, I did not find anything better than to dilute the famously written action movie with boring philosophizing for several dozen pages, where our heroes, relaxing over a glass of tea, reflect on ... no, not about how right they are, interfering in history; and not about whether it is good or bad to kill people for the sake of putting their ideas into practice - after all, in the fight against the Bolsheviks they use their own methods, sometimes even with much more cruelty than their "opponents". No, the "progressors" who are resting from endless shooting at living targets are most concerned about another burning question: who are they - independent "reality players" with free will, able to act independently, or are they themselves "chess pieces" moved on the chessboard by real players , their owners or patrons, who use the hatred of "figures" (or rather, "pawns") towards the Bolsheviks for some purpose known only to them ... Needless to say, our heroes still failed to answer this question find, although ignorance did not prevent them from actively playing a "chess" game in the vast Russian expanses ...

Alex Bor, 1997-1999

History does not know the subjunctive mood.

Said it suddenly and bluntly. In a dispute, this is an "island of safety", indicating a lack of arguments. It is also a breath prevention. After all, not only the history of Russia or Germany, but also the history of own life consists of the same "if only yes if only ...". We guess, and more often we regret the missed opportunities. My grandfather used to say: “If I had left for America in 1920, I would have been…” And the housekeeper Ulya: “If I hadn’t been evacuated to the blockade, I would have become a shop manager…”. There you too: if you hadn’t emigrated, how would your life have turned out? Or rather, what would I have written if I had not emigrated, since I myself would no longer be alive, you are not a tenant in the next world.

The fear of the subjunctive mood is the fear of facing the truth. Who said that history does not know the subjunctive mood? He knows perfectly well and even introduces this into the temptation that your conspiracy theory is. It is not necessary to write an alternative history of Russia, you can limit yourself to your own life.

“When you left, you missed so much,” one master of the pen, now a veteran of the pen, told me in 1990, when I inadvertently removed it from Molotov’s granddaughter. The Patriot Act is for my edification. Most of those whom I met in the ill-fated nineties, on the contrary, said: he was smart, he left on time. (" – Here's a nit, here's a nit... You think that we're the smartest, that... - and he shouted out five times in a row: - Clever! Smart! Clever!") Then many, headlong, rushed in my footsteps - then, catching their breath, gave reverse. In the early seventies it was called "twice a Jew of the Soviet Union."

With what fork could begin alternative life, which I missed and which in any case would have ended by now? I am the banality itself: the princess of my dreams was film directing. The young man drew a little, wrote a little, played the violin a lot and arranged a masquerade: he wore a jacket left over from his grandfather, or dressed up in tatters, risking falling into the police - but he experienced an unearthly feeling of unity with the “titular nation”, since the fifth point is no longer read. In addition to this, the day before I was shaved off at the Moscow Conservatory: after passing the last exam (history with social science), I flew to the hairdresser and, shaved bald, received a matrikul. It was a stunt, that's what Yul Brynner and Kotovsky looked like. And now, naked-headed, in a tattered padded jacket, in boots on my bare feet, I met sympathetic glances on the dacha platform ordinary people. Some grandfather and grandmother - my current years - quietly gave me ten kopecks of copper. Did you recognize someone in me?

The temptation of cinema was so great that for its sake I was ready to stop loving it. In other words, from Soviet films, from Soviet actors, their voices - especially voices and musical accompaniment in general (I still have to hack in the orchestra at Lenfilm, watching Klavka in a fluttering headscarf run and run along the same car). I watched exclusively dubbed films, as I read exclusively translated books. Only by betraying "Rashomon", "Italian Divorce", "Strawberry Glade" could one be seduced by the muse of sovkino (stress at will).

A man is shamefully weak, but Kai is a man. A classmate introduced me to three of his Odessa fellow citizens who studied at VGIK. It was hard to call it a meeting on their territory. The hostel of VGIK and the hostel of MOLGK are identical twins (inevitable genital associations are appropriate here). I read to them my story "The Story of Prester John", there were these lines:

I am a presbyter, I am a presbyter, I am presbyter John,

Triple, triple, triple I'm a dummy.

And a couple of paragraphs below:

I am Prester John, I am John, I am John,

I'm a chump three times, three times, three times.

To this, a fictionalized dream was read to me. The sign on the door remained in my memory: “Odessa embassy” - and that from the split watermelon “everything poured out without a single seed” (hypnosis of “Strawberry Glade” betrayed your soul mate, regardless of the "seed").

Three Odessa youths began to discuss who to send me to: “To Marlesha?” – “No, better to Romm. And be sure to play him.

With their help or in some other way, an audience was appointed for me. Romm, this darling of the Soviet fate, probably a slave to liberal cultural clichés, had to peck at me: emotional, liberated - plus a violinist. Seventeen years old. Even my “neorealism si, socialist realism no” was on point.

When I arrived with the violin, there was an ambulance in front of the house. I also thought about Adrian Leverkühn .

Having discovered the symptoms of a known disease, he goes to the doctor and meets him on the stairs, accompanied by two gentlemen. He goes to another - in the middle of the room there is a coffin. It's not meant to be.

Another unrealized opportunity - I don’t know what, what life impressions. Prompted by Hemigway's Holiday..., I made it a rule to write in cafes. He asked for a liquor, no matter what, but not "mint" - "southern", "lemon", "anniversary" - and opened a notebook, which some joker dubbed "general", although there is nothing more private, more intimate than it.

So it was in the ice-cream shop on the Arbat - maybe in one of the streets branching off from it - where I found myself at a table with an old woman, who was enjoying ice cream like an old woman. Cats seem to be lapping milk: concentrated, not distracted by anything else.

The concept of "free table" exists only in Sovkino. In fact, they are waiting for a “free place” (rooms in a communal apartment). I got ready to write, but, having finished the ice cream, the neighbor set to work on me: in London, you see, workers are not allowed to walk around the center, the queen does not like badly dressed people. I decided: well, like that old woman whom I once met at the post office with a pile of scribbled papers - a medical history. She had cancer of the central nervous system.

And then my ears become like those of an inhabitant of Easter Island: today I went to the trial of Sinyavsky and will go tomorrow. I'm trying not to show my excitement. What happened in court? He hid something at his mistress's in the country. And again: workers, London, puns, which they do not have at all. I'm a violinist, right? (A case is at her feet.) She really likes Erdenko .

And Svetlana is so smart! And the children are wonderful, not like the brother is an alcoholic. Do I live in a hostel? To be sure to visit her. She will introduce me to Svetlana. Stalin's daughter. Good girl. They live on the same site. Good girl! Good girl! Good girl!

To change the record, I complained that there were no tickets for Wuthering Heights in the box office, american film. Please, she can always get two tickets. And if I want, she can take me to court tomorrow, she is entitled to an accompanying person. Her husband was Karpinsky, an old Bolshevik.

The widespread rudeness and rudeness are an example of what not to be. I very politely declined. Forty-degree syrup, which was supposed to stretch for a couple of hours, finished it in a matter of minutes, and paid off with a pre-prepared trifle.

And he could have spoken in an impartial way - about her husband, and about her neighbors, and about those who judge Sinyavsky. What I couldn't do was take advantage of her senile disposition, which would probably have something to remember today. From Russia, the cat cried impressions, just susceptibility allows you to make an elephant out of a fly.

To live with one's eyes closed, in a dull rage from everything, including the taste “we”, extracted, say, from beer with a ram, to cross to the other side of the street at the word “Komsomol”, not to know the one joy for all in the form of a TV and only create prayer, turning to face the frontier post, as if to Mecca - isn't that worthy of Tolstoy's laurel seeker? A jewish janitor, a sectarian writer, Tolstoy in a laurel wreath - all one conceptual series.

Once, sitting on the edge of a child's bed, I told my child, who also suddenly became a novelist: writing is dreaming with a pencil in hand. For an eleven-twelve-year-old girl, in my opinion, an exhaustive explanation, indicating - if so - the right path. But only for the child, because you did not tell her the main thing: this is a dream turned into the past.

I catch myself thinking that to indulge in memories is to dream backwards. In the reasoning of the writer's work, life, to the brim full of events, on the one hand, is productive: a sea of ​​​​material - but on the other hand, the past is cluttered up and fantasy is assigned the role of an interpreter - by no means a creator. Interpreters, professors sour cabbage soup they applaud with fins that you can't hold a pencil with. But just as ignorance opens the door to magic, so amnesia - the eventless past - allows you to turn on the "fantasy of memories" (Leskov's expression) at full power.

The testimony, before being finally heard, manages to lose its connection with the event and testifies to itself. I join the chorus of those who paraphrase the beginning of Anna Karenina: all memories are similar to one another, each fiction is invented in its own way.

Therefore, it was completely superfluous to go on about his curiosity and meet briefly with a policewoman, almost the same age. Yes, I missed the opportunity to participate in a masquerade, to feel in the enemy's rear. “Sow reasonable, kind, eternal” - I sowed a passport and with this I went to the police, where I was treated kindly.

She is the head of the passport office. Important person. Only I, in her eyes, is apparently even more important: the permanent place of work is the Leningrad Philharmonic. And that Girshovich is not Popovich, she is even interested. They, the daughters of Eve, are all as one, God forgive me, puffy. In my free life, there were adventures that could captivate the reader: I pulled the painter through the window straight from the scaffolding, after which she got out the same way and continued to paint. But, I swear, never before, my palm did not dive under a police uniform.

She wore a foreign wig on her head—hiding snakes? All the same, it was a tribute to a short-term fashion. Suddenly, women's heads, as in the peysat region, were covered with wigs. Looking at her, I also thought that a batch of imported wigs was brought into their MVD distributor. We had a cultural time in a dark cinema hall. She said that she uses "Forest Lily of the Valley". When the light was turned on, she showed the bottle: I will give it so that I don’t confuse it. From her for the first time I heard the expression "called to the carpet." The anecdote I told about Brezhnev was not successful: I was forbidden, she was allowed. Prohibition, as you know, inflames: these jokes, if with the included payphone, I uttered a chervonets. Prohibition, however, inflames on both sides of the barricades. She offered to pick her up tomorrow at the end of the reception - did she want to stand in front of me like a leaf in front of grass?

I settled down on the side, a little behind her, a kind of boss in the eyes of the petitioner. Having served his term, he asked for mercy: to be registered at home, on the same living space with his wife and son. He was talking to her, but he was addressing a man in civilian clothes, a man. The feeling is unbearable.

Referring to an unforeseen rehearsal, I apologized for a long time, very cordially said goodbye to her, "so that never again ...". Never say never". I love this phrase in French, a completely different connotation, not warning, rather reassuring: jamais plus jamais.

The jokes will start shortly.

Where does the Motherland begin?

From the submission of paper to the OVIR.

1972 is a year of secret preparations for our family. From the intimidated Soviet people, civic courage was required that was not inherent in them. Everything was at stake: prosperity, freedom, the future - in a word, life. We enter the office of the OVIR inspector: dad, mom, aunt, uncle - he will die in two months from transient cancer, which he still does not suspect - my cousin, my wife and I.

I recognized her by her wig, without the wig I wouldn't have recognized her. I was embarrassed, she completely went spots. At the end of the second month of our waiting, I stood next to her in a crowded trolley bus, back to back, supposedly unintentionally. "How are we doing?" I asked quietly, without turning around. "You shouldn't have approached me ... There is a positive decision in your case."

Do not count the alternative moves in the maze you lived. A step - and you are at a crossroads, another step - and again at a crossroads. One can only guess what he lost, what experience? And what would it be, if yes, if only ... How many convolutions in the brain of this labyrinth against that one straight line along which you walked. Instead of the past, you have tabula rasa - write what you want, invent it for yourself. Happy inventor.

Notes

The hero of T. Mann's novel "Doctor Faustus", the creator of atonal music, who shared the fate of Hugo Wolf, Nietzsche, Maupassant.

Hereditary violinist from gypsies. Real surname Erdenkov. He was exiled to Vologda for participation in the events of 1905. He was the first to receive the title of Honored Artist of the Republic (1925).

(taken from comments)

"History has no subjunctive mood"- a stupid Russian-language phrase. Of course, it is not shared by historians themselves; historians just believe that the assessment of probabilities and prospects is potentially possible directions the course of history and the comparative consequences of different alternatives is a difficult but legitimate subject of historical research. In particular, it is absolutely necessary for understanding the choices faced by various actors of history and the motives for making their decisions.

The studies of some historical events are generally full of subjunctive analysis through and through. For example, historical research the end of the war in the Pacific region and atomic bombings Japan is a massive study, analysis and comparison of counterfactual alternatives. (Here, as a completely characteristic example of research on this topic, which explicitly explores various counterfactual alternatives and their possible combinations.) Likewise, a lot of WW2 research asks questions along the lines of "what were possible strategies for Hitler after 1939?" etc.

There are also historical exercises specifically, full-scale in subjunctive history - in the form of a series of collections of articles by professional, academic historians on the topic "what if" exploring the forks of history, possible alternatives and their probable course.

ed. Robert Cowley, "What If?: The World"s Foremost Military Historians Imagine What Might Have Been"
ed. Robert Cowley, "What If? 2: Eminent Historians Imagine What Might Have Been"
ed. Robert Cowley, "The Collected What If? Eminent Historians Imagine What Might Have Been"
ed. Robert Cowley, "What Ifs? Of American History"
ed. Andrew Roberts, "What Might Have Been: Imaginary History from Twelve Leading Historians"
Roger L. Ransom, "The Confederate States of America: What Might Have Been"
eds. Dennis Showalter, Harold Deutsch, "If the Allies Had Fallen: Sixty Alternate Scenarios of World War II"
ed. Niall Ferguson, "Virtual History: Alternatives and Counterfactuals"

Finally, it is only in the perspective of subjunctive assessments that any lessons from history can be drawn at all.

And finally, the very phrase about "thanks to [something]" may only make sense from the perspective of comparing actual history with subjunctive alternatives. If subjunctive alternatives are not conceived, then there can be no "thanks" a priori.

Bocharov Alexey Vladimirovich
"The problem of alternative historical development: historiographical and methodological aspects"
http://klio.tsu.ru/contents.htm

Common phrases that history does not have (does not know, does not tolerate, does not allow, does not like, it does not have) the subjunctive mood, or - historical science excludes (it is not applicable, not permissible in it) the subjunctive mood, literally flooded journalism, and partly the arguments of professional historians. This phenomenon could be interesting object research for memetics - a science that describes in terms of genetics the reproduction, distribution, selection, mutation and death of memes - elementary units, quanta of culture. Such informational quanta - memes, can also be formulated ideas, literary clichés and phrases used by the authors of printed works. The life of a meme can be imagined by analogy with the trajectory of the spread of a virus, which can only exist in the cell of an infected carrier. The carriers of the meme "history has no subjunctive mood" in our case are the arguments of historians dedicated to historical experience, the “lessons of history”, the choices made by the subjects historical activity in critical situations, unexpected changes in the course of events under the influence of accidents.

It is characteristic that following the statement about the inadmissibility of the subjunctive mood in history or before them, arguments in the subjunctive mood very often sound. This, on the one hand, shows the need for this very “subjunctive mood” in the study of the historical past, and on the other hand, indicates the absence, or at least the underdevelopment, of methodological reflection on this problem. For a large part domestic historians the whole methodology on this issue most often comes down to another meme, namely: “to study what could have been should be in order to understand why everything happened this way and not otherwise.” It seems that the problem of alternative historical development, due to its importance and complexity, should not be reduced to the functioning of memes.

The alternativeness of historical development is one of the most functional phenomena of historical consciousness. Awareness or denial of the possibility of a different course of events is often the main reason for turning to the past. When does the realization of alternative historical development arise? Probably, when historians begin to explain the course of events not by the will of the gods, but by the will of man. For example, the already famous book by Niccolò Machiavelli “The Sovereign” (“Prince”) is full of arguments in the subjunctive mood. However, the search for the original historiographic origins of the theme of alternativeness is not included in our tasks. The work is devoted only to the period when the alternative historical development is recognized as a special methodological problem requiring special study.