Current page: 1 (the book has 14 pages in total)

Arkady and Boris Strugatsky
Monday starts on Saturday
(A fairy tale for younger scientists)

But what is strangest, what is most incomprehensible of all, is how authors can take such plots, I confess, this is completely incomprehensible, that’s for sure ... no, no, I don’t understand at all.

N. V. Gogol

Story one
The fuss around the sofa

Chapter one

Teacher: Children, write down the sentence: "The fish was sitting on a tree."

Student: Do fish sit on trees?

Teacher: Well... It was a crazy fish.

School joke

I was approaching my destination. Around me, clinging to the road itself, the forest was green, occasionally giving way to clearings overgrown with yellow sedge. The sun had been setting for an hour now, still could not set and hung low over the horizon. The car rolled along a narrow road covered with crisp gravel. I threw large stones under the wheel, and each time empty canisters clanged and rumbled in the trunk.

On the right, two people came out of the forest, stepped onto the side of the road and stopped, looking in my direction. One of them raised his hand. I let off the gas as I looked at them. They were, it seemed to me, hunters, young people, maybe a little older than me. I liked their faces and I stopped. The one who raised his hand stuck his swarthy hook-nosed face into the car and asked, smiling:

- You will not give us a lift to Solovets?

The second, with a red beard and no mustache, was also smiling, peering over his shoulder. Positively, they were nice people.

"Let's sit down," I said. - One forward, the other back, otherwise I have junk there, in the back seat.

- Benefactor! - the hawk-nosed one said delightedly, took the gun from his shoulder and sat down next to me.

The bearded man, looking hesitantly through the back door, said:

“Can I have a little of that here?”

I leaned over the back and helped him clear the space occupied by the sleeping bag and the rolled-up tent. He sat down delicately, placing the gun between his knees.

“Close the door better,” I said.

Everything went on as usual. The car started off. The hawk-nosed man turned back and spoke animatedly about the fact that it was much more pleasant to ride in a car than to walk. The bearded man vaguely agreed and slammed and slammed the door. “Pick up your raincoat,” I advised, looking at him in the rearview mirror. “Your coat is pinched.” Five minutes later, everything finally settled down. I asked: “Ten kilometers to Solovets?” “Yes,” answered the hawk-nosed one. - Or a little more. The road, however, is unimportant - for trucks. “The road is quite decent,” I objected. “I was promised that I would not pass at all.” “You can drive along this road even in autumn.” - "Here - perhaps, but here from Korobets - unpaved." “This year the summer is dry, everything has dried up.” - "Under Zatonya, they say, it's raining," the bearded man in the back seat remarked. "Who is speaking?" asked the hawk-nosed one. Merlin speaks. For some reason they laughed. I pulled out cigarettes, lit a cigarette and offered them a treat. “The factory of Clara Zetkin,” said the hawk-nosed man, looking at the pack. Are you from Leningrad? - "Yes". - "Are you traveling?" “I'm traveling,” I said. “Are you from here?” “Indigenous,” said the hawk-nosed one. "I'm from Murmansk," the bearded man said. “For Leningrad, probably, Solovets and Murmansk are one and the same: the North,” said the hawk-nosed one. "No, why not," I said politely. “Are you going to stop in Solovets?” asked the hawk-nosed one. “Of course,” I said. “I am going to Solovets.” “Do you have relatives or friends there?” “No,” I said. I'll just wait guys. They go along the coast, and Solovets is our rendezvous point.”

Ahead, I saw a large scattering of stones, slowed down and said: "Hold on tight." The car shook and jumped. Hook-nosed bruised his nose on the barrel of a gun. The engine roared, stones hit the bottom. "Poor car," said the hawk-nosed one. “What to do…” I said. “Not everyone would drive down such a road in their car.” “I would go,” I said. The spill is over. “Ah, so this is not your car,” the hook-nosed one guessed. “Well, how do I get a car! It's a rental." “Understood,” said the hawk-nosed one, disappointedly, it seemed to me. I felt hurt. “What’s the point of buying a car to drive on asphalt? Where there is asphalt, there is nothing interesting, and where it is interesting, there is no asphalt.” “Yes, of course,” the hook-nosed man agreed politely. “It’s stupid, in my opinion, to make an idol out of a car,” I said. “Stupid,” said the bearded man. But not everyone thinks so. We talked about cars and came to the conclusion that if we were to buy anything, it would be the GAZ-69, an all-terrain vehicle, but, unfortunately, they are not sold. Then the hawk-nosed one asked: “Where do you work?” I replied. “Colossal! exclaimed the hunchback. - Programmer! We need a programmer. Listen, leave your institute and come to us!” “What do you have?” “What do we have?” asked the hawk-nosed one, turning around. "Aldan-3," said the bearded one. “Rich car,” I said. “And does it work well?” - "Yes, how can I tell you ..." - "Understood," - I said. “Actually, it has not yet been debugged,” said the bearded one. - Stay with us, debug ... "-" And we will arrange the translation for you in no time, "- added the hook-nosed one. "What are you doing?" I asked. “Like all science,” said the hawk-nosed one. “Human happiness.” “Understood,” I said. “Something with space?” “And with space, too,” said the hawk-nosed one. “They don’t look for good from good,” I said. " metropolitan city and a decent salary,” the bearded man said quietly, but I heard. “No need,” I said. “You don’t have to measure for money.” “No, I was joking,” said the bearded man. “He's joking like that,” said the hawk-nosed one. “More interesting than ours, you will not be anywhere.” - "Why do you think so?" - "Sure". “I'm not sure.” The hawk-nosed chuckled. “We will talk about this again,” he said. “Will you stay in Solovets for a long time?” “Two days maximum.” “We’ll talk on the second day.” The bearded one said: “Personally, I see the finger of fate in this - they were walking through the forest and met a programmer. I think you are doomed." “Do you really need a programmer?” I asked. "We desperately need a programmer." “I'll talk to the guys,” I promised. “I know those who are dissatisfied.” “We don't need just any programmer,” said the hawk-nosed one. “Programmers are a scarce people, they are spoiled, but we need an unspoilt one.” "Yeah, it's harder," I said. The hook-nosed one began to bend his fingers: “We need a programmer: a - not spoiled, be - a volunteer, tse - to agree to live in a hostel ... " - "De," the bearded man picked up, "for one hundred and twenty rubles." “What about wings? I asked. “Or, shall we say, lights around the head?” One in a thousand!" “We only need one,” said the hawk-nosed one. “And if there are only nine hundred of them?” “Nine-tenths agree.”

The forest parted, we crossed the bridge and rolled between the potato fields. "Nine o'clock," said the hawk-nosed one. “Where are you going to spend the night?” “I'll sleep in the car. What time are your stores open until? “Our shops are already closed,” said the hawk-nosed one. “It is possible in a hostel,” said the bearded one. “I have an empty bed in my room.” “You can’t drive up to the hostel,” said the hawk-nosed man thoughtfully. “Yes, perhaps,” said the bearded man, and for some reason laughed. “The car can be parked near the police,” said the hawk-nosed one. “Yes, this is nonsense,” said the bearded man. - I'm talking nonsense, and you follow me. How will he get into the hostel? “Y-yeah, hell,” said the hawk-nosed one. “Really, if you don’t work for a day, you forget about all these things.” “Maybe transgress it?” “Well, well,” said the hawk-nosed one. This is not your sofa. And you are not Cristobal Junta, and neither am I ... "

“Don't worry,” I said. I'll sleep in the car, not the first time.

I suddenly felt like sleeping on sheets. I've been sleeping in a sleeping bag for four nights now.

“Listen,” said the hook-nosed one, “ho-ho!” Out of the knife!

- Correctly! exclaimed the bearded man. - On Lukomorye it!

"By God, I'll sleep in the car," I said.

“You will spend the night in the house,” said the hawk-nosed one, “on relatively clean linen. We must thank you somehow...

“It’s not a fifty kopeck for you to poke,” said the bearded one.

We entered the city. Ancient strong fences stretched out, powerful log cabins made of giant blackened logs, with narrow windows, with carved platbands, with wooden cockerels on the roofs. I came across several dirty brick buildings with iron doors, the sight of which brought the semi-familiar word "storage" out of my memory. The street was straight and wide and was called Mira Avenue. Ahead, closer to the center, one could see two-story cinder-block houses with open little gardens.

“Next alley to the right,” said the hawk-nosed one.

I turned on the turn signal, braked and turned right. The road here was overgrown with grass, but a brand new "Zaporozhets" stood crouching at some gate. House numbers hung over the gates, and the numbers were barely visible on the rusty tin of the signs. The lane was elegantly called: “St. Lukomorye. It was not wide and was sandwiched between heavy old fences, probably put up in those days when Swedish and Norwegian pirates roamed here.

“Stop,” said the hawk-nosed one. I braked and he bumped his nose against the barrel of the gun again. “Now that’s it,” he said, rubbing his nose. - You wait for me, and I'll go and arrange everything.

“Really, it’s not worth it,” I said for the last time.

- No talking. Volodya, keep him at gunpoint.

Hook-nosed got out of the car and, bending down, squeezed through the low gate. You couldn't see the house behind the tall gray fence. The gates were absolutely phenomenal, as in a locomotive depot, on rusty iron hinges weighing a pound. I read the signs with amazement. There were three. On the left collar, a solid blue signboard with silver letters sternly gleamed with thick glass:

NIICHAVO

hut on chicken legs

monument of Solovetsky antiquity

A rusty tin plate hung on top of the right collar: “St. Lukomorye, d. No. 13, N.K. Gorynych ”, and under it flaunted a piece of plywood with an inscription in ink at random:

CAT DOES NOT WORK

Administration

- What CAT? I asked. – Committee of Defense Technology?

The bearded man chuckled.

"You don't have to worry," he said. “It’s funny here, but everything will be all right.

I got out of the car and began to wipe the windshield. Above my head they were suddenly imported. I looked. On the gates, making himself comfortable, a gigantic - I have never seen such a - black and gray, streaked, cat. Sitting down, he looked at me with his yellow eyes full and indifferent. “Kiss-kiss-kiss,” I said mechanically. The cat politely and coldly opened its toothy mouth, made a hoarse throaty sound, and then turned away and began to look inside the yard. From there, behind the fence, the hawk-nosed voice said:

- Vasily, my friend, let me disturb you.

The bolt screeched. The cat got up and silently disappeared into the yard. The gate swayed heavily, a terrifying creak and crack was heard, and the left gate slowly opened. The hawk-nosed face, red from exertion, appeared.

- Benefactor! he called. - Come on in!

I got back in the car and drove slowly into the yard. The courtyard was vast, in the back stood a house made of thick logs, and in front of the house was a squat, immense oak tree, wide, dense, with a dense crown obscuring the roof. From the gate to the house, skirting the oak, there was a path lined with stone slabs. To the right of the path there was a vegetable garden, and to the left, in the middle of the lawn, there was a log cabin with a well, black from antiquity and covered with moss.

I parked the car on the side, turned off the engine and got out. The bearded Volodya also got out and, leaning his gun against the side, began to fit the backpack.

“Here you are at home,” he said.

Hook-nosed with a creak and crackling shut the gate, while I, feeling rather awkward, looked around, not knowing what to do.

- And here is the hostess! cried the bearded man. - How are you, grandma, Naina is the light of Kievna!

The owner must have been over a hundred. She walked towards us slowly, leaning on a knotted stick, dragging her feet in felt boots with galoshes. Her face was dark brown; from a continuous mass of wrinkles, a nose protruded forward and downward, crooked and sharp as a scimitar, and the eyes were pale, dull, as if covered with thorns.

“Hello, hello, granddaughters,” she said in an unexpectedly sonorous bass. - This means that there will be a new programmer? Hello father, welcome!

I bowed, knowing that I needed to keep quiet. The grandmother's head, over a black downy scarf tied under her chin, was covered with a cheerful nylon scarf with multi-colored images of the Atomium and with inscriptions on different languages: "International Exhibition in Brussels". A sparse gray stubble protruded from his chin and under his nose. The grandmother was dressed in a padded sleeveless jacket and a black cloth dress.

- In this way, Naina Kievna! said the hawk-nosed one, coming up and wiping the rust from his palms. - We need to arrange for our new employee for two nights. Let me introduce you... mmm...

“But don’t,” said the old woman, examining me intently. - I see it myself. Privalov Alexander Ivanovich, one thousand nine hundred and thirty-eighth, male, Russian, member of the Komsomol, no, no, did not participate, was not, does not have, but it will be for you, diamond, a long journey and interest in a government house, but you should be afraid, diamond, you need a red-haired, unkind person, but gild the handle, yakhontovy ...

- Hmm! the hawk-nosed one said loudly, and the grandmother broke off. There was an awkward silence.

- You can just call Sasha ... - I squeezed out a pre-prepared phrase.

“And where do I put it?” Grandma asked.

“In the storeroom, of course,” the hook-nosed man said somewhat irritably.

- And who will answer?

“Naina Kievna!” the hawk-nosed man roared like a provincial tragedian, grabbed the old woman by the arm and dragged her to the house. You could hear them arguing: “After all, we agreed! ..” - “... And if he removes something? ..” - “Be quiet! It's a programmer, right? Komsomolets! Scientist! .. "-" And if he pokes? .. "

I shyly turned to Volodya. Volodya giggled.

“It’s kind of awkward,” I said.

Don't worry, everything will be fine...

He wanted to say something else, but then the grandmother yelled wildly: “A sofa, a sofa! ..” I shuddered and said:

“You know, I should probably go, huh?

- Out of the question! Volodya said decisively. - Everything will be all right. It’s just that the grandmother needs a bribe, and Roman and I don’t have cash.

“I will pay,” I said. Now I really wanted to leave: I can't stand these so-called worldly conflicts.

Volodya shook his head.

- Nothing like this. He's already on his way. Everything is good.

Hook-nosed Roman came up to us, took my hand and said:

- Well, everything worked out. Went.

“Listen, it’s uncomfortable somehow,” I said. She doesn't have to, after all...

But we were already on our way home.

“I have to, I have to,” Roman said.

We rounded the oak tree and reached the back porch. Roman pushed open the leatherette door, and we found ourselves in a hallway, spacious and clean, but poorly lit. The old woman was waiting for us, her hands folded on her stomach and her lips pursed. When she saw us, she boomed vindictively:

- And a receipt for it right now!

Roman howled softly, and we entered the room allotted to me. It was a cool room with one window, hung with a cotton curtain. Roman said in a tense voice:

- Relax and make yourself at home.

The old woman from the hall immediately inquired jealously:

“But they don’t click their teeth?”

Roman, without turning around, barked:

- Don't chirp! They tell you there are no teeth.

- Then let's go, write a receipt ...

Roman raised his eyebrows, rolled his eyes, bared his teeth and shook his head, but went out anyway. I looked around. There was little furniture in the room. By the window stood a massive table, covered with a shabby gray fringed tablecloth, in front of the table was a rickety stool. Near the bare log wall there was a large sofa, on the other wall, covered with wallpaper of various sizes, there was a hanger with some kind of junk (quilted jackets, fur coats that came out, tattered caps and earflaps). A large Russian stove, shining with fresh whitewash, protruded into the room, and opposite in the corner hung a large, dim mirror in a shabby frame. The floor was scraped and covered with striped rugs.

Behind the wall they muttered in two voices: the old woman bassed on one note, Roman's voice rose and fell. “Tablecloth, inventory number two hundred and forty-five ...” - “You still write down every floorboard! ..” - “Dinner table ...” - “Will you also write down the oven? ..” - “Order is needed ... Sofa ...”

I went to the window and drew back the curtain. There was an oak tree outside the window, nothing else was visible. I began to look at the oak. It was apparently a very ancient plant. The bark on it was gray and somehow dead, and the monstrous roots that crawled out of the ground were covered with red and white lichen. “And also write down the oak!” Roman said behind the wall. There was a plump, greasy book on the windowsill; I leafed through it thoughtlessly, stepped away from the window, and sat down on the sofa. And now I want to sleep. I thought that today I had been driving for fourteen hours, that it was not worth it, perhaps, to be in such a hurry, that my back hurts, and everything is confused in my head, that I don’t give a damn about this boring old woman, and soon it would all be over and could lay down and sleep...

- Well, - said Roman, appearing on the threshold. - The formalities are over. He waved his hand, fingers splayed and smeared with ink. - Our fingers are tired: we wrote, we wrote ... Go to bed. We leave, and you calmly go to bed. What are you doing tomorrow?

"I'm waiting," I answered languidly.

- Here. And near the post office.

“You won’t leave tomorrow, will you?”

- Tomorrow is unlikely ... Most likely - the day after tomorrow.

"Then we'll see each other again." Our love is ahead. He smiled, waved his hand and left. I idly thought that I should have seen him off and said goodbye to Volodya, and lay down. Just then an old woman entered the room. I wake up. The old woman looked at me for some time.

“I’m afraid, father, that you’ll start to bark your teeth,” she said with concern.

“I won’t poke,” I said wearily. - I'm going to sleep.

- And lie down and sleep ... Just pay the money and sleep ...

I reached into my back pocket for my wallet.

- How much?

The old woman raised her eyes to the ceiling.

- We'll put a ruble for the room ... Fifty dollars for bed linen - it's mine, not state-owned. For two nights it comes out three rubles ... And how much from the bounty you will throw - for anxiety, then - I don’t know ...

I handed her a five.

“So far, a ruble from generosity,” I said. - And it will be seen there.

The old woman quickly grabbed the money and walked away, muttering something about change. She was gone for a long time, and I already wanted to give up on both change and linen, but she returned and laid a handful of dirty coppers on the table.

“Here’s your change, father,” she said. - Exactly a ruble, you can not count.

“I won’t count,” I said. - What about underwear?

- I'll make a bed now. You go out into the yard, take a walk, and I will make a bed.

I went out, pulling out cigarettes as I went. The sun has finally set and White Night. Somewhere dogs were barking. I sat down under an oak tree on a bench that had grown into the ground, lit a cigarette and began to look at the pale starless sky. A cat appeared noiselessly from somewhere, looked at me with fluorescent eyes, then quickly climbed up the oak tree and disappeared into the dark foliage. I immediately forgot about him and shuddered when he fussed somewhere upstairs. Debris fell on my head. “Damn you…” I said aloud and began to dust myself off. I was extremely anxious to sleep. An old woman came out of the house, not noticing me, wandered to the well. I understood this to mean that the bed was ready, and returned to the room.

The bad old lady made a bed for me on the floor. Well, no, I thought, locked the door on the latch, dragged the bed onto the sofa and began to undress. A gloomy light fell from the window, a cat bustled noisily on the oak. I shook my head, shaking the debris out of my hair. It was strange garbage, unexpected: large dry fish scales. It will be a good sleep, I thought, I fell on the pillow and immediately fell asleep.

Chapter Two

I woke up in the middle of the night because they were talking in the room. The two were talking in barely audible whispers. The voices were very similar, but one was a little choked and hoarse, and the other betrayed extreme irritation.

"Don't wheeze," he whispered, irritated. – Can you not wheeze?

“I can,” the strangled man replied and snorted.

“Be quiet…” he hissed, irritated.

“A hoarse one,” explained the strangled man. “Smoker's morning cough…” He suffocated again.

“Get out of here,” he said, irritated.

Yes, he's still sleeping...

- Who is he? Where did it fall from?

– How do I know?

- That's a shame ... Well, just phenomenally unlucky.

Again, the neighbors can not sleep, I thought awake.

I imagined that I was at home. My neighbors at home are two physicist brothers who love to work at night. By two in the morning they run out of cigarettes, and then they climb into my room and start rummaging around, banging furniture and arguing.

I grabbed a pillow and threw it into the void. Something crashed down with a noise, and it became quiet.

“Give back the pillow,” I said, “and get out. Cigarettes on the table.

The sound of my own voice woke me completely. I sat down. The dogs barked despondently, behind the wall an old woman snored menacingly. I finally remembered where I was. There was no one in the room. In the twilight light, I saw my pillow on the floor and the junk that had fallen from the hanger. Grandma's head will be torn off, I thought, and jumped up. The floor was cold and I stepped onto the rugs. Grandma stopped snoring. I froze. The floorboards crackled, something crunched and rustled in the corners. Grandmother whistled deafeningly and began to snore again. I picked up the pillow and threw it on the sofa. The junk smelled of dog. The hanger fell off the nail and hung sideways. I corrected it and began to pick up junk. I had scarcely hung up the last coat, when the hanger broke off and, shuffling against the wallpaper, hung again on one nail. Grandma stopped snoring, and I broke out in a cold sweat. Somewhere nearby, a rooster crowed. Into your soup, I thought with hatred. The old woman behind the wall began to spin, springs creaking and clicking. I waited on one leg. In the courtyard, someone said quietly: "It's time to sleep, we've been sitting too long today." The voice was young, feminine. “Sleep like that,” said another voice. A long yawn was heard. “Are you going to splash around again today?” - "Something's cold. Come on guys." It became quiet. Grandmother growled and grumbled, and I cautiously returned to the sofa. I'll get up early in the morning and fix everything properly...

I lay down on my right side, pulled the blanket over my ear, closed my eyes and suddenly realized that I didn’t feel like sleeping at all - I wanted to eat. Ayyyyyyy, I thought. It was necessary to urgently take action, and I took them.

Here, let's say, is a system of two integral equations of the type of stellar statistics equations; both unknown functions are under the integral. Of course, one can only solve numerically, say, at BESM... I remembered our BESM. Custard color control panel. Zhenya places a roll of newspaper on this panel and unhurriedly unfolds it. "What do you have?" “I have it with cheese and sausage.” With Polish half-smoked, circles. “Hey, you need to get married! I have cutlets, with garlic, homemade. And pickles." No, two cucumbers ... Four cutlets and, for good measure, four strong pickled cucumbers. And four slices of bread and butter...

I threw back the covers and sat up. Maybe there is something left in the car? No, everything that was there, I ate. There was a cookbook for Valka's mother, who lives in Lezhnev. How is it there ... Pikan sauce. Half a glass of vinegar, two onions ... and pepper. Served with meat dishes ... As I remember now: with small steaks. What meanness, I thought, not just to steaks, but to ma-a-scarlet steaks. I jumped up and ran to the window. The night air smelled distinctly of ma-a-scarlet steaks. From somewhere in the bowels of the subconscious surfaced: “He was served the usual dishes in taverns, such as: sour cabbage soup, brains with peas, pickled cucumber (I took a sip) and the eternal puff sweet pie ...” I would be distracted, I thought, and took the book from the windowsill . It was Alexei Tolstoy, Gloomy Morning. I opened at random. “Makhno, having broken a sardine key, pulled out a mother-of-pearl knife with fifty blades from his pocket and continued to wield it, opening tins of pineapples (bad business, I thought), French pate, with lobsters, from which the room smelled sharply.” I carefully put the book down and sat down at the table on a stool. There was suddenly a delicious, pungent smell in the room: it must have smelled like lobster. I began to wonder why I had never tasted lobster until now. Or, say, oysters. In Dickens's, everyone eats oysters, wields folding knives, cuts off thick slices of bread, spreads it with butter ... I began to nervously smooth the tablecloth. There were stains on the tablecloth. They ate a lot and deliciously. Ate lobsters and brains with peas. They ate small steaks with pican sauce. Large and medium steaks were also eaten. They puffed full, satisfactorily clicked their teeth ... There was nothing for me to puff, and I began to poke my teeth.

I must have done it loudly and hungry, because the old woman behind the wall creaked the bed, muttered angrily, rattled something, and suddenly came into my room. She was wearing a long gray shirt, and in her hands she carried a plate, and the real, not fantastic, aroma of food immediately spread in the room. The old woman smiled. She set the plate right in front of me and sweetly boomed:

- Take a bite, father, Alexander Ivanovich. Eat what God sent, sent with me ...

“What are you, what are you, Naina Kievna,” I muttered, “why did you bother yourself so much ...

But somewhere in my hand I already had a fork with a bone handle, and I began to eat, and my grandmother stood nearby, nodding and saying:

- Eat, father, eat in good health ...

I ate everything. It was a hot potato with ghee.

“Naina Kievna,” I said earnestly, “you saved me from starvation.

- Have you eaten? said Naina Kievna somehow unfriendly.

- Ate great. Thank you very much! You cannot imagine...

“What can’t be imagined,” she interrupted, already completely irritated. Have you eaten, I say? Well, give me a plate here ... A plate, I say, come on!

“For…please,” I said.

- "Please, please" ... Feed you here for please ...

“I can pay,” I said, getting angry.

- "Pay, pay" ... - She went to the door. What if they don't pay for it at all? And there was nothing to lie ...

- That is, how is it - to lie?

- And so lie! You said yourself that you won't tinkle…” She stopped talking and hid behind the door.

What is she? I thought. Some strange grandmother ... Maybe she noticed the hanger? She could be heard creaking with springs, tossing and turning on the bed and grumbling with displeasure. Then she sang softly to some barbaric motive: “I’ll ride, lie down, after eating Ivashkin’s meat ...” A cold night blew from the window. I shivered, got up to return to the sofa, and then it dawned on me that I had locked the door before going to bed. Confused, I went to the door and stretched out my hand to check the latch, but as soon as my fingers touched the cold iron, everything swam before my eyes. It turned out that I was lying on the couch, with my nose buried in a pillow, and I was feeling the cold log of the wall with my fingers.

For some time I lay dying, until I realized that somewhere nearby an old woman was snoring, and they were talking in the room. Someone instructively spoke in an undertone:

- The elephant is the largest animal of all living on earth. It has a large piece of meat on its snout, which is called a trunk because it is empty and stretched out like a pipe. He stretches and bends it in all sorts of ways and uses it instead of a hand...

Cold with curiosity, I cautiously turned to my right side. The room was still empty. The voice continued even more instructively:

– Wine used in moderation is very good for the stomach; but when you drink too much of it, it produces vapors that degrade a person to the level of senseless beasts. You have sometimes seen drunkards, and still remember the just disgust you had for them...

I jumped up and swung my legs off the couch. The voice is silent. It seemed to me that they were talking from somewhere behind the wall. Everything in the room was the same, even the hanger, to my surprise, hung in place. And, to my surprise, I was very hungry again.

“Tincture ex vitro antimony,” a voice announced suddenly. I started. - Magiftherium Antimon Angelii Salae. Bafilia oleum vitry antimonia alexiterium antimoniale! – I heard a distinct chuckle. - That's what nonsense! - said the voice and continued with a howl: - Soon these eyes, still opened, will no longer see the sun, but do not let it close without a gracious notice of my forgiveness and bliss ... This is the “Spirit or Moral Thoughts of the Glorious Jung, extracted from his nightly reflections ". Sold in St. Petersburg and Riga in Sveshnikov bookstores for two rubles in a folder. – Someone sobbed. “It’s also nonsense,” said the voice and said with an expression:

Ranks, beauty, wealth,
All the pleasures of this life
Flying, weakening, disappearing,
This is decay, and happiness is false!
Infections gnaw at the heart
And glory cannot be kept ...

- And where does this nonsense come from? I asked. I didn't expect an answer. I was sure that I was dreaming.

“Sayings from the Upanishads,” the voice answered readily.

What are the Upanishads? “I was no longer sure I was dreaming.

I got up and tiptoed over to the mirror. I didn't see my reflection. The cloudy glass reflected the curtain, the corner of the stove, and many things in general. But I wasn't in it.

- Who is speaking? I asked looking behind the mirror. There was a lot of dust and dead spiders behind the mirror. Then I pressed my left eye with my index finger. It was an old rule for recognizing hallucinations, which I read in the fascinating book by V. V. Bitner "To believe or not to believe?". It is enough to press a finger on the eyeball, and all real objects - unlike hallucinations - will split in two. The mirror split in two, and my reflection appeared in it - a sleepy, anxious physiognomy. It blew down my legs. Cursing my fingers, I went to the window and looked out.

There was no one outside the window, not even an oak tree. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. I distinctly saw in front of me a mossy well log house with a gate, a gate and my car at the gate. I'm still asleep, I thought calmly. My gaze fell on the windowsill, on the disheveled book. In the last dream, it was the third volume of the Pain, now on the cover I read: “P. I. Karpov. Creativity of the mentally ill and its influence on the development of science, art and technology. Teeth chattering from the chill, I leafed through the book and looked through the colored inserts. Then I read "Verse #2":

In the circle of clouds high
black-winged sparrow
Trembling and lonely
Soars quickly above the ground.
He flies at night
illuminated by moonlight,
And, undepressed,
He sees everything below him.
Proud, predatory, furious
And flying like a shadow
Eyes glow like day.

The floor suddenly swayed under my feet. There was a piercing lingering creak, then, like the rumble of a distant earthquake, there was a roaring: “Ko-o… Ko-o… Ko-o…” The hut shook like a boat on the waves. The yard outside the window shifted to the side, and a gigantic chicken leg crawled out from under the window and stuck its claws into the ground, made deep furrows in the grass and disappeared again. The floor tilted steeply, I felt that I was falling, grabbed something soft with my hands, hit my side and head and fell off the sofa. I lay on the rugs, clutching the pillow that had fallen with me. The room was completely light. Outside the window, someone was clearing his throat.

But what is strangest, what is most incomprehensible of all, is how authors can take such plots, I confess, this is completely incomprehensible, that’s for sure ... no, no, I don’t understand at all.

Story one
The fuss around the sofa

Chapter one

Teacher: Children, write down the sentence: "The fish was sitting on a tree."

Student Q: Do fish sit on trees?

Teacher: Well… It was a crazy fish.

School joke

I was approaching my destination. Around me, clinging to the road itself, the forest was green, occasionally giving way to clearings overgrown with yellow sedge. The sun had been setting for an hour now, still could not set and hung low over the horizon. The car rolled along a narrow road covered with crisp gravel. I threw large stones under the wheel, and each time empty canisters clanged and rumbled in the trunk.

On the right, two people came out of the forest, stepped onto the side of the road and stopped, looking in my direction. One of them raised his hand. I let off the gas as I looked at them. They were, it seemed to me, hunters, young people, maybe a little older than me. I liked their faces and I stopped. The one who raised his hand stuck his swarthy hook-nosed face into the car and asked, smiling:

Will you give us a lift to Solovets?

The second, with a red beard and no mustache, was also smiling, peering over his shoulder. On the positive side, they were nice people.

Let's sit down, I said. - One forward, the other back, otherwise I have junk there, in the back seat.

Benefactor! - the hook-nosed one said delightedly, took off his gun from his shoulder and sat down next to me.

The bearded man, looking hesitantly through the back door, said:

Can I have a little of that here?

I leaned over the back and helped him clear the space occupied by the sleeping bag and the rolled-up tent. He sat down delicately, placing the gun between his knees.

Close the door, I said.

Everything went on as usual. The car started off. The hawk-nosed man turned back and spoke animatedly about the fact that it is much more pleasant to ride in a passenger car than to walk. The bearded man indistinctly agreed and kept slamming and slamming the door. “Pick up the raincoat,” I advised, looking at him in the rearview mirror. “Your coat is pinched.” Five minutes later, everything finally settled down. I asked: “Ten kilometers to Solovets?” "Yes," answered the hawk-nosed one. - Or a little more. The road, however, is unimportant - for trucks. “The road is quite decent,” I objected. “I was promised that I would not pass at all.” “You can drive along this road even in autumn.” - "Here - perhaps, but here from Korobets - unpaved." - "This year the summer is dry, everything dried up." - "Under Zatonya, they say it's raining," the bearded man in the back seat remarked. "Who is speaking?" asked the hook-nosed one. Merlin speaks. For some reason they laughed. I pulled out cigarettes, lit a cigarette and offered them a treat. “The factory of Clara Zetkin,” said the hawk-nosed one, looking at the pack. - Are you from Leningrad? - "Yes". - "Are you traveling?" "I'm traveling," I said. - Are you from here? “Indigenous,” said the hook-nosed one. "I'm from Murmansk," the bearded man said. “For Leningrad, probably, Solovets and Murmansk are one and the same: the North,” said the hawk-nosed one. "No, why not," I said politely. “Are you going to stop in Solovets?” asked the hook-nosed one. “Of course,” I said. - I'm going to Solovets. “Do you have relatives or friends there?” “No,” I said. I'll just wait guys. They go along the coast, and our Solovets is a rendezvous point.

Ahead, I saw a large scattering of stones, slowed down and said: "Hold on tight." The car shook and jumped. Hook-nosed bruised his nose on the barrel of a gun. The engine roared, stones hit the bottom. "Poor car," said the hook-nosed one. “What to do…” I said. “Not everyone would drive down such a road in their car.” “I would go,” I said. The spill is over. “Ah, so this is not your car,” the hook-nosed one guessed. “Well, how do I get a car! It's a rental." - "Understood," said the hook-nosed one, as it seemed to me, disappointedly. I felt hurt. “What’s the point of buying a car to drive on asphalt? Where there is asphalt, there is nothing interesting, and where it is interesting, there is no asphalt.” "Yes, of course," the hook-nosed man agreed politely. "It's stupid, in my opinion, to make an idol out of a car," I said. “Stupid,” said the bearded man. But not everyone thinks so. We talked about cars and came to the conclusion that if we were to buy anything, it would be the GAZ-69, an all-terrain vehicle, but, unfortunately, they are not sold. Then the hawk-nosed one asked: “Where do you work?” I replied. “Colossal! exclaimed the hawk-nosed one. - Programmer! We need a programmer. Listen, leave your institute and come to us!” - "What do you have?" - "What do we have?" asked the hook-nosed one, turning around. "Aldan-3," said the bearded one. “Rich car,” I said. “And does it work well?” - “Yes, how can I tell you ...” - “Understood,” I said. “Actually, it has not yet been debugged,” said the bearded one. - Stay with us, debug ... "-" And we will arrange the translation for you in no time, "- added the hook-nosed one. "What are you doing?" I asked. “Like all science,” said the hawk-nosed one. - Human happiness. “Understood,” I said. "Something with space?" - "And with space too," said the hook-nosed one. “They don’t look for good from good,” I said. “A capital city and a decent salary,” the bearded man said softly, but I heard. “No need,” I said. “You don’t have to measure for money.” “No, I was joking,” said the bearded one. “He is joking like that,” said the hawk-nosed one. “More interesting than ours, you will not be anywhere.” - "Why do you think so?" - "Sure". - "I'm not sure." The hawk-nosed chuckled. “We will talk about this again,” he said. “Will you stay in Solovets for a long time?” - Two days maximum. - "We'll talk on the second day." The bearded one said: “Personally, I see the finger of fate in this - we were walking through the forest and met a programmer. I think you are doomed." - "Do you really need a programmer?" I asked. "We desperately need a programmer." "I'll talk to the guys," I promised. “I know those who are dissatisfied.” “We don't need just any programmer,” said the hawk-nosed one. “Programmers are a scarce people, they are spoiled, but we need an unspoilt one.” "Yeah, it's harder," I said. The hook-nosed one began to bend his fingers: “We need a programmer: a - not spoiled, be - a volunteer, tse - to agree to live in a hostel ... " - "De," the bearded man picked up, "for one hundred and twenty rubles." “What about the wings? I asked. - Or, say, lights around the head? One in a thousand!" “But we only need one,” said the hawk-nosed one. “And if there are only nine hundred of them?” “Nine-tenths agree.”

Teacher: Children, write down the sentence: "The fish was sitting on a tree."

Student: Do fish sit on trees?

Teacher: Well... It was a crazy fish.

School joke

I was approaching my destination. Around me, clinging to the road itself, the forest was green, occasionally giving way to clearings overgrown with yellow sedge. The sun had been setting for an hour now, still could not set and hung low over the horizon. The car rolled along a narrow road covered with crisp gravel. I threw large stones under the wheel, and each time empty canisters clanged and rumbled in the trunk.

On the right, two people came out of the forest, stepped onto the side of the road and stopped, looking in my direction. One of them raised his hand. I let off the gas as I looked at them. They were, it seemed to me, hunters, young people, maybe a little older than me. I liked their faces and I stopped. The one who raised his hand stuck his swarthy hook-nosed face into the car and asked, smiling:

- You will not give us a lift to Solovets?

The second, with a red beard and no mustache, was also smiling, peering over his shoulder. On the positive side, they were nice people.

"Let's sit down," I said. - One forward, the other back, otherwise I have junk there, in the back seat.

- Benefactor! - the hawk-nosed one said delightedly, took the gun from his shoulder and sat down next to me.

The bearded man, looking hesitantly through the back door, said:

“Can I have a little of that here?”

I leaned over the back and helped him clear the space occupied by the sleeping bag and the rolled-up tent. He sat down delicately, placing the gun between his knees.

“Close the door better,” I said.

Everything went on as usual. The car started off. The hawk-nosed man turned back and spoke animatedly about the fact that it was much more pleasant to ride in a car than to walk. The bearded man vaguely agreed and slammed and slammed the door. “Pick up your raincoat,” I advised, looking at him in the rearview mirror. “Your coat is pinched.” Five minutes later, everything finally settled down. I asked: “Ten kilometers to Solovets?” “Yes,” answered the hawk-nosed one. - Or a little more. The road, however, is unimportant - for trucks. “The road is quite decent,” I objected. “I was promised that I would not pass at all.” “You can drive along this road even in autumn.” - "Here - perhaps, but here from Korobets - unpaved." “This year the summer is dry, everything has dried up.” - "Under Zatonya, they say, it's raining," the bearded man in the back seat remarked. "Who is speaking?" asked the hawk-nosed one. Merlin speaks. For some reason they laughed. I pulled out cigarettes, lit a cigarette and offered them a treat. “The factory of Clara Zetkin,” said the hawk-nosed man, looking at the pack. Are you from Leningrad? - "Yes". - "Are you traveling?" “I'm traveling,” I said. “Are you from here?” “Indigenous,” said the hawk-nosed one. "I'm from Murmansk," the bearded man said. “For Leningrad, probably, Solovets and Murmansk are one and the same: the North,” said the hawk-nosed one. "No, why not," I said politely. “Are you going to stop in Solovets?” asked the hawk-nosed one. “Of course,” I said. “I am going to Solovets.” “Do you have relatives or friends there?” “No,” I said. I'll just wait guys. They go along the coast, and Solovets is our rendezvous point.”

Ahead, I saw a large scattering of stones, slowed down and said: "Hold on tight." The car shook and jumped. Hook-nosed bruised his nose on the barrel of a gun. The engine roared, stones hit the bottom. "Poor car," said the hawk-nosed one. “What to do…” I said. “Not everyone would drive down such a road in their car.” “I would go,” I said. The spill is over. “Ah, so this is not your car,” the hook-nosed one guessed. “Well, how do I get a car! It's a rental." “Understood,” said the hawk-nosed one, disappointedly, it seemed to me. I felt hurt. “What’s the point of buying a car to drive on asphalt? Where there is asphalt, there is nothing interesting, and where it is interesting, there is no asphalt.” “Yes, of course,” the hook-nosed man agreed politely. “It’s stupid, in my opinion, to make an idol out of a car,” I said. “Stupid,” said the bearded man. But not everyone thinks so. We talked about cars and came to the conclusion that if we were to buy anything, it would be the GAZ-69, an all-terrain vehicle, but, unfortunately, they are not sold. Then the hawk-nosed one asked: “Where do you work?” I replied. “Colossal! exclaimed the hunchback. - Programmer! We need a programmer. Listen, leave your institute and come to us!” “What do you have?” “What do we have?” asked the hawk-nosed one, turning around. "Aldan-3," said the bearded one. “Rich car,” I said. “And does it work well?” - "Yes, how can I tell you ..." - "Understood," - I said. “Actually, it has not yet been debugged,” said the bearded one. - Stay with us, debug ... "-" And we will arrange the translation for you in no time, "- added the hook-nosed one. "What are you doing?" I asked. “Like all science,” said the hawk-nosed one. “Human happiness.” “Understood,” I said. “Something with space?” “And with space, too,” said the hawk-nosed one. “They don’t look for good from good,” I said. “A capital city and a decent salary,” the bearded man said in a low voice, but I heard him. “No need,” I said. “You don’t have to measure for money.” “No, I was joking,” said the bearded man. “He's joking like that,” said the hawk-nosed one. “More interesting than ours, you will not be anywhere.” - "Why do you think so?" - "Sure". “I'm not sure.” The hawk-nosed chuckled. “We will talk about this again,” he said. “Will you stay in Solovets for a long time?” “Two days maximum.” “We’ll talk on the second day.” The bearded one said: “Personally, I see the finger of fate in this - they were walking through the forest and met a programmer. I think you are doomed." “Do you really need a programmer?” I asked. "We desperately need a programmer." “I'll talk to the guys,” I promised. “I know those who are dissatisfied.” “We don't need just any programmer,” said the hawk-nosed one. “Programmers are a scarce people, they are spoiled, but we need an unspoilt one.” "Yeah, it's harder," I said. The hook-nosed one began to bend his fingers: “We need a programmer: a - not spoiled, be - a volunteer, tse - to agree to live in a hostel ... " - "De," the bearded man picked up, "for one hundred and twenty rubles." “What about wings? I asked. “Or, shall we say, lights around the head?” One in a thousand!" “We only need one,” said the hawk-nosed one. “And if there are only nine hundred of them?” “Nine-tenths agree.”

The forest parted, we crossed the bridge and rolled between the potato fields. "Nine o'clock," said the hawk-nosed one. “Where are you going to spend the night?” “I'll sleep in the car. What time are your stores open until? “Our shops are already closed,” said the hawk-nosed one. “It is possible in a hostel,” said the bearded one. “I have an empty bed in my room.” “You can’t drive up to the hostel,” said the hawk-nosed man thoughtfully. “Yes, perhaps,” said the bearded man, and for some reason laughed. “The car can be parked near the police,” said the hawk-nosed one. “Yes, this is nonsense,” said the bearded man. - I'm talking nonsense, and you follow me. How will he get into the hostel? “Y-yeah, hell,” said the hawk-nosed one. “Really, if you don’t work for a day, you forget about all these things.” “Maybe transgress it?” “Well, well,” said the hawk-nosed one. This is not your sofa. And you are not Cristobal Junta, and neither am I ... "

“Don't worry,” I said. I'll sleep in the car, not the first time.

I suddenly felt like sleeping on sheets. I've been sleeping in a sleeping bag for four nights now.

“Listen,” said the hook-nosed one, “ho-ho!” Out of the knife!

- Correctly! exclaimed the bearded man. - On Lukomorye it!

"By God, I'll sleep in the car," I said.

“You will spend the night in the house,” said the hawk-nosed one, “on relatively clean linen. We must thank you somehow...

“It’s not a fifty kopeck for you to poke,” said the bearded one.

We entered the city. Ancient strong fences stretched out, powerful log cabins made of giant blackened logs, with narrow windows, with carved platbands, with wooden cockerels on the roofs. I came across several dirty brick buildings with iron doors, the sight of which brought the semi-familiar word "storage" out of my memory. The street was straight and wide and was called Mira Avenue. Ahead, closer to the center, one could see two-story cinder-block houses with open little gardens.

“Next alley to the right,” said the hawk-nosed one.

I turned on the turn signal, braked and turned right. The road here was overgrown with grass, but a brand new "Zaporozhets" stood crouching at some gate. House numbers hung over the gates, and the numbers were barely visible on the rusty tin of the signs. The lane was elegantly called: “St. Lukomorye. It was not wide and was sandwiched between heavy old fences, probably put up in those days when Swedish and Norwegian pirates roamed here.

“Stop,” said the hawk-nosed one. I braked and he bumped his nose against the barrel of the gun again. “Now that’s it,” he said, rubbing his nose. - You wait for me, and I'll go and arrange everything.

“Really, it’s not worth it,” I said for the last time.

- No talking. Volodya, keep him at gunpoint.

Hook-nosed got out of the car and, bending down, squeezed through the low gate. You couldn't see the house behind the tall gray fence. The gates were absolutely phenomenal, as in a locomotive depot, on rusty iron hinges weighing a pound. I read the signs with amazement. There were three. On the left collar, a solid blue signboard with silver letters sternly gleamed with thick glass:

NIICHAVO

hut on chicken legs

monument of Solovetsky antiquity

A rusty tin plate hung on top of the right collar: “St. Lukomorye, d. No. 13, N.K. Gorynych ”, and under it flaunted a piece of plywood with an inscription in ink at random:

CAT DOES NOT WORK

Administration

- What CAT? I asked. – Committee of Defense Technology?

The bearded man chuckled.

"You don't have to worry," he said. “It’s funny here, but everything will be all right.

I got out of the car and began to wipe the windshield. Above my head they were suddenly imported. I looked. On the gates, making himself comfortable, a gigantic - I have never seen such a - black and gray, streaked, cat. Sitting down, he looked at me with his yellow eyes full and indifferent. “Kiss-kiss-kiss,” I said mechanically. The cat politely and coldly opened its toothy mouth, made a hoarse throaty sound, and then turned away and began to look inside the yard. From there, behind the fence, the hawk-nosed voice said:

- Vasily, my friend, let me disturb you.

The bolt screeched. The cat got up and silently disappeared into the yard. The gate swayed heavily, a terrifying creak and crack was heard, and the left gate slowly opened. The hawk-nosed face, red from exertion, appeared.

- Benefactor! he called. - Come on in!

I got back in the car and drove slowly into the yard. The courtyard was vast, in the back stood a house made of thick logs, and in front of the house was a squat, immense oak tree, wide, dense, with a dense crown obscuring the roof. From the gate to the house, skirting the oak, there was a path lined with stone slabs. To the right of the path there was a vegetable garden, and to the left, in the middle of the lawn, there was a log cabin with a well, black from antiquity and covered with moss.

I parked the car on the side, turned off the engine and got out. The bearded Volodya also got out and, leaning his gun against the side, began to fit the backpack.

“Here you are at home,” he said.

Hook-nosed with a creak and crackling shut the gate, while I, feeling rather awkward, looked around, not knowing what to do.

- And here is the hostess! cried the bearded man. - How are you, grandma, Naina is the light of Kievna!

The owner must have been over a hundred. She walked towards us slowly, leaning on a knotted stick, dragging her feet in felt boots with galoshes. Her face was dark brown; from a continuous mass of wrinkles, a nose protruded forward and downward, crooked and sharp as a scimitar, and the eyes were pale, dull, as if covered with thorns.

“Hello, hello, granddaughters,” she said in an unexpectedly sonorous bass. - This means that there will be a new programmer? Hello father, welcome!

I bowed, knowing that I needed to keep quiet. The grandmother's head, over a black downy scarf tied under her chin, was covered with a cheerful nylon scarf with multi-colored images of the Atomium and inscriptions in different languages: "International Exhibition in Brussels." A sparse gray stubble protruded from his chin and under his nose. The grandmother was dressed in a padded sleeveless jacket and a black cloth dress.

- In this way, Naina Kievna! said the hawk-nosed one, coming up and wiping the rust from his palms. - We need to arrange for our new employee for two nights. Let me introduce you... mmm...

“But don’t,” said the old woman, examining me intently. - I see it myself. Privalov Alexander Ivanovich, one thousand nine hundred and thirty-eighth, male, Russian, member of the Komsomol, no, no, did not participate, was not, does not have, but it will be for you, diamond, a long journey and interest in a government house, but you should be afraid, diamond, you need a red-haired, unkind person, but gild the handle, yakhontovy ...

- Hmm! the hawk-nosed one said loudly, and the grandmother broke off. There was an awkward silence.

- You can just call Sasha ... - I squeezed out a pre-prepared phrase.

“And where do I put it?” Grandma asked.

“In the storeroom, of course,” the hook-nosed man said somewhat irritably.

- And who will answer?

“Naina Kievna!” the hawk-nosed man roared like a provincial tragedian, grabbed the old woman by the arm and dragged her to the house. You could hear them arguing: “After all, we agreed! ..” - “... And if he removes something? ..” - “Be quiet! It's a programmer, right? Komsomolets! Scientist! .. "-" And if he pokes? .. "

I shyly turned to Volodya. Volodya giggled.

“It’s kind of awkward,” I said.

Don't worry, everything will be fine...

He wanted to say something else, but then the grandmother yelled wildly: “A sofa, a sofa! ..” I shuddered and said:

“You know, I should probably go, huh?

- Out of the question! Volodya said decisively. - Everything will be all right. It’s just that the grandmother needs a bribe, and Roman and I don’t have cash.

“I will pay,” I said. Now I really wanted to leave: I can't stand these so-called worldly conflicts.

Volodya shook his head.

- Nothing like this. He's already on his way. Everything is good.

Hook-nosed Roman came up to us, took my hand and said:

- Well, everything worked out. Went.

“Listen, it’s uncomfortable somehow,” I said. She doesn't have to, after all...

But we were already on our way home.

“I have to, I have to,” Roman said.

We rounded the oak tree and reached the back porch. Roman pushed open the leatherette door, and we found ourselves in a hallway, spacious and clean, but poorly lit. The old woman was waiting for us, her hands folded on her stomach and her lips pursed. When she saw us, she boomed vindictively:

- And a receipt for it right now!

Roman howled softly, and we entered the room allotted to me. It was a cool room with one window, hung with a cotton curtain. Roman said in a tense voice:

- Relax and make yourself at home.

The old woman from the hall immediately inquired jealously:

“But they don’t click their teeth?”

Roman, without turning around, barked:

- Don't chirp! They tell you there are no teeth.

- Then let's go, write a receipt ...

Roman raised his eyebrows, rolled his eyes, bared his teeth and shook his head, but went out anyway. I looked around. There was little furniture in the room. By the window stood a massive table, covered with a shabby gray fringed tablecloth, in front of the table was a rickety stool. Near the bare log wall there was a large sofa, on the other wall, covered with wallpaper of various sizes, there was a hanger with some kind of junk (quilted jackets, fur coats that came out, tattered caps and earflaps). A large Russian stove, shining with fresh whitewash, protruded into the room, and opposite in the corner hung a large, dim mirror in a shabby frame. The floor was scraped and covered with striped rugs.

Behind the wall they muttered in two voices: the old woman bassed on one note, Roman's voice rose and fell. “Tablecloth, inventory number two hundred and forty-five ...” - “You still write down every floorboard! ..” - “Dinner table ...” - “Will you also write down the oven? ..” - “Order is needed ... Sofa ...”

I went to the window and drew back the curtain. There was an oak tree outside the window, nothing else was visible. I began to look at the oak. It was apparently a very ancient plant. The bark on it was gray and somehow dead, and the monstrous roots that crawled out of the ground were covered with red and white lichen. “And also write down the oak!” Roman said behind the wall. There was a plump, greasy book on the windowsill; I leafed through it thoughtlessly, stepped away from the window, and sat down on the sofa. And now I want to sleep. I thought that today I had been driving for fourteen hours, that it was not worth it, perhaps, to be in such a hurry, that my back hurts, and everything is confused in my head, that I don’t give a damn about this boring old woman, and soon it would all be over and could lay down and sleep...

- Well, - said Roman, appearing on the threshold. - The formalities are over. He waved his hand, fingers splayed and smeared with ink. - Our fingers are tired: we wrote, we wrote ... Go to bed. We leave, and you calmly go to bed. What are you doing tomorrow?

"I'm waiting," I answered languidly.

- Here. And near the post office.

“You won’t leave tomorrow, will you?”

- Tomorrow is unlikely ... Most likely - the day after tomorrow.

"Then we'll see each other again." Our love is ahead. He smiled, waved his hand and left. I idly thought that I should have seen him off and said goodbye to Volodya, and lay down. Just then an old woman entered the room. I wake up. The old woman looked at me for some time.

“I’m afraid, father, that you’ll start to bark your teeth,” she said with concern.

“I won’t poke,” I said wearily. - I'm going to sleep.

- And lie down and sleep ... Just pay the money and sleep ...

I reached into my back pocket for my wallet.

- How much?

The old woman raised her eyes to the ceiling.

- We'll put a ruble for the room ... Fifty dollars for bed linen - it's mine, not state-owned. For two nights it comes out three rubles ... And how much from the bounty you will throw - for anxiety, then - I don’t know ...

I handed her a five.

“So far, a ruble from generosity,” I said. - And it will be seen there.

The old woman quickly grabbed the money and walked away, muttering something about change. She was gone for a long time, and I already wanted to give up on both change and linen, but she returned and laid a handful of dirty coppers on the table.

“Here’s your change, father,” she said. - Exactly a ruble, you can not count.

“I won’t count,” I said. - What about underwear?

- I'll make a bed now. You go out into the yard, take a walk, and I will make a bed.

I went out, pulling out cigarettes as I went. The sun finally set, and the white night came. Somewhere dogs were barking. I sat down under an oak tree on a bench that had grown into the ground, lit a cigarette and began to look at the pale starless sky. A cat appeared noiselessly from somewhere, looked at me with fluorescent eyes, then quickly climbed up the oak tree and disappeared into the dark foliage. I immediately forgot about him and shuddered when he fussed somewhere upstairs. Debris fell on my head. “Damn you…” I said aloud and began to dust myself off. I was extremely anxious to sleep. An old woman came out of the house, not noticing me, wandered to the well. I understood this to mean that the bed was ready, and returned to the room.

The bad old lady made a bed for me on the floor. Well, no, I thought, locked the door on the latch, dragged the bed onto the sofa and began to undress. A gloomy light fell from the window, a cat bustled noisily on the oak. I shook my head, shaking the debris out of my hair. It was strange garbage, unexpected: large dry fish scales. It will be a good sleep, I thought, I fell on the pillow and immediately fell asleep.

A. Strugatsky, B. Strugatsky

MONDAY BEGINS ON SATURDAY

But what is strangest, what is most incomprehensible of all, is how authors can take such plots, I confess, this is completely incomprehensible, that’s for sure ... no, no, I don’t understand at all.

N.V. Gogol

HISTORY ONE

The fuss around the sofa

CHAPTER ONE

TEACHER: Children, write down the sentence: "The fish was sitting on a tree."

STUDENT: Do fish sit in trees?

TEACHER: Well... It was a crazy fish.

School joke

was approaching my destination. Around me, clinging to the road itself, the forest was green, occasionally giving way to clearings overgrown with yellow sedge. The sun had been setting for an hour now, still could not set and hung low over the horizon. The car rolled along a narrow road covered with crisp gravel. I threw large stones under the wheel, and each time empty canisters clanged and rumbled in the trunk.

On the right, two people came out of the forest, stepped onto the side of the road and stopped, looking in my direction. One of them raised his hand. I let off the gas as I looked at them. They were, it seemed to me, hunters, young people, maybe a little older than me. I liked their faces and I stopped. The one who raised his hand stuck his swarthy hook-nosed face into the car and asked, smiling:

Will you give us a lift to Solovets?

The second, with a red beard and no mustache, was also smiling, peering over his shoulder. On the positive side, they were nice people.

Let's sit down, I said. - One forward, the other back, otherwise I have junk there, in the back seat.

Benefactor! the hawk-nosed one said delightedly, took off his gun from his shoulder and sat down next to me.

The bearded man, looking hesitantly through the back door, said:

Can I have a little of that here?

I leaned over the back and helped him clear the space occupied by the sleeping bag and the rolled-up tent. He sat down delicately, placing the gun between his knees.

Close the door, I said.

Everything went on as usual. The car started off. The hawk-nosed man turned back and spoke animatedly about the fact that it was much more pleasant to ride in a car than to walk. The bearded man vaguely agreed and slammed and slammed the door. “Pick up the raincoat,” I advised, looking at him in the rearview mirror. “Your coat is pinched.” Five minutes later, everything finally settled down. I asked: “Ten kilometers to Solovets?” "Yes," answered the hawk-nosed one. - Or a little more. The road, however, is unimportant - for trucks. “The road is quite decent,” I objected. “I was promised that I would not pass at all.” “You can drive along this road even in autumn.” - "Here - perhaps, but here from Korobets - unpaved." - "This year the summer is dry, everything dried up." - "Under Zatonya, they say it's raining," the bearded man in the back seat remarked. "Who is speaking?" asked the hook-nosed one. Merlin speaks. For some reason they laughed. I pulled out cigarettes, lit a cigarette and offered them a treat. “The factory of Clara Zetkin,” said the hawk-nosed one, looking at the pack. - Are you from Leningrad? - "Yes". - "Are you traveling?" "I'm traveling," I said. - Are you from here? “Indigenous,” said the hook-nosed one. "I'm from Murmansk," the bearded man said. “For Leningrad, probably, Solovets and Murmansk are one and the same: the North,” said the hawk-nosed one. "No, why not," I said politely. “Are you going to stop in Solovets?” asked the hook-nosed one. “Of course,” I said. - I'm going to Solovets. “Do you have relatives or friends there?” “No,” I said. I'll just wait guys. They go along the coast, and our Solovets is a rendezvous point.

Ahead, I saw a large scattering of stones, slowed down and said: "Hold on tight." The car shook and jumped. Hook-nosed bruised his nose on the barrel of a gun. The engine roared, stones hit the bottom. "Poor car," said the hook-nosed one. “What to do…” I said. “Not everyone would drive down such a road in their car.” “I would go,” I said. The spill is over. “Ah, so this is not your car,” the hook-nosed one guessed. “Well, how do I get a car! It's a rental." - "Understood," said the hook-nosed one, as it seemed to me, disappointedly. I felt hurt. “What’s the point of buying a car to drive on asphalt? Where there is asphalt, there is nothing interesting, and where it is interesting, there is no asphalt.” "Yes, of course," the hook-nosed man agreed politely. "It's stupid, in my opinion, to make an idol out of a car," I said. “Stupid,” said the bearded man. But not everyone thinks so. We talked about cars and came to the conclusion that if we were to buy anything, it would be the GAZ-69, an all-terrain vehicle, but, unfortunately, they are not sold. Then the hawk-nosed one asked: “Where do you work?” I replied. “Colossal! exclaimed the hawk-nosed one. - Programmer! We need a programmer. Listen, leave your institute and come to us!” - "What do you have?" - "What do we have?" asked the hook-nosed one, turning around. "Aldan-3," said the bearded one. “Rich car,” I said. “And does it work well?” - “Yes, how can I tell you ...” - “Understood,” I said. “Actually, it has not yet been debugged,” said the bearded one. - Stay with us, debug ... "-" And we will arrange the translation for you in no time, "- added the hook-nosed one. "What are you doing?" I asked. “Like all science,” said the hawk-nosed one. - Human happiness. “Understood,” I said. "Something with space?" - "And with space too," said the hook-nosed one. “They don’t look for good from good,” I said. “A capital city and a decent salary,” the bearded man said softly, but I heard. “No need,” I said. “You don’t have to measure for money.” “No, I was joking,” said the bearded one. “He is joking like that,” said the hawk-nosed one. “More interesting than ours, you will not be anywhere.” - "Why do you think so?" - "Sure". - "I'm not sure." The hawk-nosed chuckled. “We will talk about this again,” he said. “Will you stay in Solovets for a long time?” - Two days maximum. - "We'll talk on the second day." The bearded one said: “Personally, I see the finger of fate in this - we were walking through the forest and met a programmer. I think you are doomed." - "Do you really need a programmer?" I asked. "We desperately need a programmer." "I'll talk to the guys," I promised. “I know those who are dissatisfied.” “We don't need just any programmer,” said the hawk-nosed one. “Programmers are a scarce people, they are spoiled, but we need an unspoilt one.” "Yeah, it's harder," I said. The hook-nosed one began to bend his fingers: “We need a programmer: a - not spoiled, be - a volunteer, tse - to agree to live in a hostel ... " - "De," the bearded man picked up, "for one hundred and twenty rubles." “What about wings? I asked. - Or, say, lights around the head? One in a thousand!" “But we only need one,” said the hawk-nosed one. “And if there are only nine hundred of them?” “Nine-tenths agree.”

The forest parted, we crossed the bridge and rolled between the potato fields. "Nine o'clock," said the hawk-nosed one. - Where are you going to spend the night? - I'll sleep in the car. What time are your stores open until? “Our stores are already closed,” said the hawk-nosed one. “It is possible in a hostel,” said the bearded one. “I have an empty bed in my room.” - "You can't drive up to the hostel," said the hawk-nosed man thoughtfully. “Yes, perhaps,” said the bearded man, and for some reason laughed. “The car can be parked near the police,” said the hawk-nosed one. “Yes, this is nonsense,” said the bearded man. - I'm talking nonsense, and you follow me. How will he get into the hostel? “Yes, yes, hell,” said the hawk-nosed one. “Really, if you don’t work for a day, you forget about all these things.” - "Or maybe transgress it?" “Well, well,” said the hawk-nosed one. - This is not your sofa. And you are not Cristobal Junta, and neither am I ... "

Don't worry, I said. - I'll spend the night in the car, not the first time.

I suddenly felt like sleeping on sheets. I've been sleeping in a sleeping bag for four nights now.

Listen, - said the hook-nosed one, - ho-ho! Out of the knife!

Correctly! exclaimed the bearded man. - On Lukomorye it!

By God, I'll sleep in the car, - I said.

You will spend the night in the house, - said the hook-nosed one, - on relatively clean linen. We must thank you somehow...

Don't give you fifty kopecks, - said the bearded man.

We entered the city. Ancient strong fences stretched out, powerful log cabins made of giant blackened logs, with narrow windows, with carved platbands, with wooden cockerels on the roofs. I came across several dirty brick buildings with iron doors, the sight of which brought the semi-familiar word "storage" out of my memory. The street was straight and wide and was called Mira Avenue. Ahead, closer to the center, one could see two-story cinder-block houses with open little gardens.

Next alley to the right,” said the hawk-nosed one.

I turned on the turn signal, braked and turned right. The road here was overgrown with grass, but a brand new "Zaporozhets" stood crouching at some gate. House numbers hung over the gates, and the numbers were barely visible on the rusty tin of the signs. The lane was elegantly called: “St. Lukomorye. It was not wide and was sandwiched between heavy old fences, probably put up in those days when Swedish and Norwegian pirates roamed here.