that there is no on light of a real, correct,
eternal love? Cut out his lying tongue!
For me, my reader, and only for me,
and I'll show you such love!»
Mikhail Bulgakov " Master and Margarita»
l.
"And we wanted to live beautifully, and we wanted to be happy people, and we were drawn so inexplicably to each other, and that's all we could." So once sang one pop Duo, and these words could well be apply and to us. To me, the author of these lines, and my wife Julia.
I remember it was spring, and I - a 24-year-old writer, with an immature pen-wrote a book about an artist living in Khimki. He wrote not at the call of his heart, and commissioned a small publishing house specializing in books about the people of art.
My artist was a fine-grained Creator, hence it is clear why the story about him was entrusted to an inexperienced author. Say, if he comes out with something, it's good. If it doesn't work - no great loss!
As for yours truly, another work I had, so I willingly – though with some timidity, took up this theme. Especially because I was given a small advance, and we Julia could now make a monthly fee for our removable Moscow odnushku, well, at least somehow make ends meet.
And here is my hero - an elderly, battered in the storm, and his own mind of man, in the eternal wide trousers and a denim vest.
Irrevocably convinced that everything in this world is bought and sold. You just have to name the price.
I immediately ought to understand that this is, in General, miserable, quarrelsome man, but I was like enchanted. It seemed to me that he was a large - scale figure, unhappy, underestimated and very, very interesting.
And I was afraid that I would not pull the description of such a tragic fate.
And the artist, let's call him, for example, Timur, cut his chance and climbed out of his skin to become famous: slipped documents and newspaper clippings, poured comments, for a long time and excitedly talked about himself, often jumping from topic to topic and losing the logic of the narrative.
And he often twisted me "Beatles", which he loved very much - on live vinyl - immersed me in the atmosphere of his youth, so that I could feel the relief of his nature more subtly, and understand where the origins of his unsurpassed style come from.
To be honest, I didn't move into anything at first. The information grew like a snowball, I was nervous that I would never be able to comprehend, systematize and process it.
However, gradually, the puzzles at the very least began to take shape in some picture, little by little it became clear to me that my hero is not curious about his talent or some other advantage, but it is his wormhole, which was to solve and difficult and interesting at the same time
In the morning, I now gladly hurried to his Studio. Sometimes even remained in it to spend the night. Contrary to the wishes of Timur, who saw only himself, something I was able to tell him about myself.
So, in addition to his will, he learned, for example, that my wealth is small, that my wife and I do not have our own corner, moved to Moscow recently. And in this Moscow, in General, very lonely.
Although my beloved has a friend in the suburbs, she successfully married a successful, though elderly businessman, and from time to time invites Julia to visit.
I wasn't going to complain of life, not in my character to whine, but now I understand: it turned out so that I complained. He even said that, sometimes, we are starving, and touching store in the refrigerator the last tomato for each other, until it darkens and dries to the size of a date.
The damn muffins and eternal stress we go sideways - we have really a year is not normal sex. And we can only dream about it.
And we dream about the sea. After all, "even in the sky only and conversations that about the sea".
And we have a favorite place in Yalta, on the waterfront-cafe "treasure Island"!
And here is this message, as me it looked, are interested in Timur:
- You both starve, and you have no sex, but at the same time love each other, so what? With disbelief he looked at me and continued.- Bullshit. It never does.
So I was always in the money and that worthwhile women are not found. All I wanted to Rob, Yes at my expense on a carousel ride. So under this I same still and talent!
And you, out, behind blue eyes love…
That I could to answer him? That my Julia is special, clean and honest? She grabbed any job, just to replenish our meager family budget and support my creative endeavors, as she believed in me. Well, it was no use to say anything.
At that time, Julia seems to have worked in the convenience store gifts - on the package. And often brought home paper flowers, own production - such artificial buds went on decoration of festive purchases.
These roses, by the way, created very talented, have long been kept on the books in our shelf.
One weekend I took Yulia to Khimki to show the artist's Studio where I spent so much time. I knew the shop was closed at the time.
But for some reason I wanted Julia - at least outside - to see it and feel the amazing creative atmosphere of the suburban town, which I liked more and more.
Near the Studio was a pond with swans and surrounded by some - surprisingly - clean and bright birches. I photographed my wife under them. And it seemed, birch give your glare on the pure face of Julia.
And while the day the weather was gray, he always left me with the most light, even Sunny memories.
Then I told Timur that at the weekend we walked near his Studio, showed pictures.
-Look, you weren't lying, she really is nothing - he gave his assessment.- Proportional representation. Is easy to draw, and to pass through it character just. But it is very modest in appearance. And by modesty, generally hiding floss. Still waters run deep. I do not want to upset you, Sasha, but be on the alert.- He gave me back my humble camera.
- If you women unworthy come across, so it is not necessary all under one comb to row,- I freaked out.
They all have one thing in common, they are even parameteri eve, dallying with the serpent in the garden of Eden.
- Picasso and Dali?! Yes met you in the time his or Galu, Olga Khokhlova, one of you would give a new come out!
I Hate Dali. And this his Gala-whore the kind still. He was horned to death. The very old woman Kravarica, and in the castle with youngsters tumbled…
And now remember, I arrived in the Studio before dinner. It was a group of students of the art school, which Timur gave a paid lecture.
I wanted to go out for an hour, because I didn't know when the event would be over, but this big old man gave me a sign that I wouldn't leave, that he would be finished soon, and there was some important conversation.
When the Studiosus left, he beckoned me to his Smoking (he smoked very rarely, and in the Studio - never). Put the kettle on, put a cigarette in his mouth, flicked the lighter and disappeared into clouds of fragrant smoke.
He very carefully, with a sly squint looked at me through the smoke:
- I have a friend, Omar, at last, he said, is also an artist, although there is some fucking artist, a cheap craftsman. Shkeritsya in a provincial Karacharova. Despite the fact that, mind you, he is a side descendant of the sheikhs, intertwined in pedigree and with the Russian Imperial house. Terribly rich fruit-inherited millions: eats, thumps, Fucks women. Word, turned workshop, and all my painting sucks, mallet the devils, although he could draw powerfully.
Of course not like me, but also on the level – jokingly draws a solid line, and this, believe me, is not given to everyone!
I shrugged, as if agreeing with his opinion.
- Well, - continued Timur - I showed him your Julia, and this old hump was going to write her portrait. And invites you for a weekend to her house.
"How did you show it," I chuckled, " if I didn't leave you her pictures?"
Not that you, Sasha, do not get it, and even books take to write, let you deep inside and think I'm fucked up, but all the same I'm an artist!
He took from his pocket of his baggy pants a notebook. Open it. On a small page in a box, a pencil was very clearly and accurately executed portrait of Julia.
- I have a photographic memory. Once it is enough for me to see the face that it was minted in memory for the rest of my life. – Happy to chew her smoke.
-Well, let him write - hesitantly I replied, not realizing yet that I can say.
- That's the thing, you weirdo with the letter "me." He paints women's portraits infrequently. But if he writes, he has a chip - the model needs to become his concubine.
Well, it's not enough for the goat, she has to give birth to him, because he thinks that a woman's really expressive face only happens when she's pregnant. Now during pregnancy he writes, oplodotvorenie for courage and inspiration myself.
Well, where does Julia? – I was taken aback.
It's simple. This devil was struck by the modesty of your swell. That's all she wrote.
Boorish Timur has never been the refinement of phraseologisms, but that was the final stuff, my ears are bent. And he mumbled and mumbled that supposedly said that Omar everything about us, described Julia, her modesty, dignity, figure.
And he managed to kindle a fire of interest in the eyes of this eerie painter, although at first he was not confident in his abilities.
But the artist understood the artist.
This, perhaps, was the first and the latest case in his life, when he about someone one well. However, I could imagine what colors he described to the dissolute accomplice my spouse.
- Nu, why you all of this, Timur?!- My mind went beyond my mind.- What have we done to you?
- Yes understand you, asshole, this is your chance to break out of poverty.- He looked at me with his cruel yellow eyes.- Yes, any woman in the world would give half my life, without hesitation, to only Omar drew attention to it!
There's hundreds of millions of dollars, if not billions. Billions, you understand?! And a crazy old man who doesn't know how to spend it anymore. And here arises a reasonable question, and if your Julia him?!
You wanted to go to that blue puddle of yours? So you will puddle, that is the sea. A whole ocean with a Villa and a yacht!
Timur left in earnest.
- So he's also an old man?!
- He's three years older than me. That means he's 69. He's got sand coming out of him.
- Why do you drive a Kalina when you have such a rich friend?!
- He's not my friend in the first place. And secondly, to Timur took something from this primitive artisan will never happen!
It was raining, the window of the Smoking-room was open, and the playful breeze kept pouring from it into the Smoking-room with small drops of rain and green earrings, torn from the spring birches, which gently drummed on the table, on the floor. They jumped in the ashtray.
I said, as cut off, that we with Yulia love each other. That we are happy and we do not need any other villas and yachts.
- You do not know women - again, he's a worn-out record.
- Julia do not like to sleep for the money, it will not.
- Let's see what you sing when she gets tired of your Paradise in the hut. Try it, tell her about Omar's offer. I bet she'll react. You want me to prove it to you?!
To listen this game no longer have the strength, here's the trailer - is the mite. I was smothered by the smoke of his cigarette, so we finally got comfortable, I hastily grabbed my things, and gasping, ran out into the street.
Cool, smoky rain rolled me from head to toe, cooled my hot "radiator". I walked against him, not even thinking about opening my umbrella.
All, I have no more character for the book! - I exhaled, tumbling into the apartment, and hastily undressed, wet kicked into bed, stuck his face into the pillow.
In those days Julia worked at night, and therefore was now at home.
- How do we now give an advance to your publisher?- Only and indeed she sighed.
She didn't want me to say anything. But the trick Khimki painter was so blatant that emotions overwhelmed me. In General, I did not keep them in myself, poured out everything to Julia, and even added something unprintable to the address of the vile Timur, who showed his true face.
Having collected a simple brake, the wife left on the night shift. I skull scented candle - wife in her shop sometimes as an incentive they were given and, obeying any not-yet-conscious impulse, stripped naked.
I was up all night, and I don't know why.
And the lights of my apartment flickered lonely on the dark bulk of the house, like a cliff. And the first spring thunderstorms shook the sky, and now and then painted it oblique lightning.
Tired Julia returned at dawn, well, she, too, for some reason, did not hurry to bed. I warmed the tea, we gathered at the table, but none of us dared to speak first.
Were you awake? finally asked his wife,- warming up chilly hands with a warm Cup of coffee. With morning was fresh and cool.
What makes you think?
- The bed's not made... what's bothering you?
Timur's a fucking asshole. I thought he was a normal person. I was counting on him
- Wait, don't boil yourself. Maybe he really wanted to help. You didn't think he had a moral bar like that, and in his coordinate system, what he offered you is normal?
Artists have a special view of the world, of relationships, and it's time for you to understand that. Anyway, don't break up with him until you finish the job. It is necessary to finish the book, you're already as advanced! Don't you mind giving up?..
In General, I adjusted the blanket to fall asleep on his soft pillow with elephant Julia, quietly locked the door, and, half asleep fell to Timur in the workshop.
- If I had me a shop of a lobster, well, the hack writers of Karacharovo, I like this picture wrote that he never dreamed of, and it loads on my hands some heavy frame. - Two squares from him, four meters high walls, the front wall is glass and faces South. Pick up what you want the canvas, what you want to put the light!
And he says you can't put it on your head! Now we are preparing his exhibition, and none of its worthwhile capital salon will not accept. Look, a reproduction of his rubbish!
This eccentric in a denim vest pulled out of the pages of a huge album in format-something about varieties of tulips - a dense sheet with a pattern.
He struck me! Imagine a Golden throne. On it, the face of to you sits quite muscular, naked, swarthy man, the face of a similar on of an animal, in open red robes. And on his penis-a miniature, white girl with a distorted face of passion.
However, his cock and her vagina were discharged extremely detail - in the finest detail and in exaggerated form blue-green veins powerful dick and a vagina as big as a pregnant Mare – purple. Sometimes motley, sometimes black.
Yeah, this kind of work in the Tretyakov gallery will not exhibit!
- Take it, if you want, - Timur allowed me and put the reproduction between the pages of the folded newspaper.- Here, here, she won't remember.
I waved my hands in fright. Say, do not give me such a gift.
And then-hat in a bale-and go!
ll.
Little by little woke up to the siren. Her strong buds were ready to splash white and purple milk on this world, to fill it all up to the blue sky, like a canvas, alive, violent colors.
And so sweet to smell of young grass, and the smoke of fires in which the wipers fired simple winter debris - from leaves and dry sprigs of trees.
I stabbed my fingers on the packaging of this - complained to me after the store Julia.- Flowers are now doing on the wire, and it is not given, pricked – I can not get used to it.
God, I'm selfish, selfish. No, in order to ask my wife how her day was, she may need some help?.. I caught her poor, wounded fingers and began to kiss them.
- Would you be offended if I went to see Natasha's girlfriend on Saturday?
To be honest, I didn't like the idea.
If you believe Julia, the same Natasha lived in abundance, and I did not want my wife, being there, on a visit, jealous of her friend. Well, I didn't pretend.
- God, of course you should go. Get some rest, take some time. You're not locked in a cage.
On Saturday, Yulia went to the Moscow region, and I went to my involuntarily favorite cozy Khimki workshop. And again hissed vinyl, and an old denim jacket complained to me about his useless life.
Timur was married four times, married couples, as here mentioned, with his words, turned out to be a bitch, tihushniki, completely stole from the artist's attraction to the female portraits…
My wife and I returned home almost at the same time. Julia was thoughtful and even annoyed, although she hid her irritation. "Compared to our removable "cage" with a business friend alone and unhappy" - sadly I thought…
However, next weekend she's going to Natasha. And came from there, scary to think... with a Golden IPhone!
To hide such a thing was impossible and made no sense, so she immediately segilola it in front of me, saying that Natasha is clearly not poor. Old man to celebrate, with the birth of his daughter bought his wife a gold latest model, and that she gave her, that is Julia.
This Natasha was Julia's friend since childhood, they even brought each other some distant relatives, these circumstances are quite explained by such an expensive gift. Though what he went though through the way but still from her husband, I was, understandably, not pleased.
Well, I "swallowed" that damn IPhone, especially since Julia was happy with it, as a child of a long-awaited toy and reassured me with assurances that in case of complete lack of money, we now have "capital", which can be put into action.
I weighed this heavy shiny, somehow warm thing in my hand - it was nice to hold it! Turnover on the IPhone was very finely minted a portrait of a white-king in crown and robes.
"For such a candy and can kill." I thought and advised his beloved not to Shine it anywhere, especially in dark places.
Thus, the gift of Julia's girlfriend I was worried twice.
Although, in General, special reasons to be sad as it was not. My book little by little went to its conclusion. Yulina's efforts were evaluated in her shop and her wife was going to raise - to make head of the packaging Department and sent to St. Petersburg for a two-week course.
In her absence, an event occurred that I still remember with a mixed feeling of unprecedented joy and sadness that followed.
Then I was fond of running (I thought that in this way I would support my shaken potency). And now, as I remember – clear spring morning, an awakening courtyard of our house, and parked cars. And with the edge-a little at a distance, the wheel on the curb - black BMW-X-6. This is my dream car! And at our house, it no doubt arose for the first time.
The entire yard car series was familiar to me.
When I ran past Boomer, devouring him with his greedy eyes, the door on the driver side opened and out of it as the very slowly fell out of the man, too, like me, in sweats and stretched out on the pavement right under the running Board of his beautiful machine.
Probably had a heart attack. I rushed to his aid, though I had no idea how to provide it. I remember grabbing his Breasts, for some reason tried to drag him into the salon, and he, barely moving his tongue, all wanted to tell me something, but I could not make out that.
Finally heard two words: jacket, validol.
Gently placing him back so that he wouldn't hit his head on the asphalt, I slipped it under his head knitted hat, eyes found on the car seat leather jacket, quickly searched the pockets, found a coveted bottle, put it in flaccid lips that my "client" the white tiny pill.
He lifted her tongue from his lip, then lifted himself into a sitting position, and then stood up, all bad bending like a robot.
- I thought the skiff me, ' he gasped and slowly reached out a cold hand, Anton. And you, son, goes, my Savior.
Was that Anton mean no less than 70.
- Get in the car, sit with me, he said.- I feel like I'm gonna die today.
- You should be treated, but not on roads to go.- I advised him when he climbed into the passenger seat. Auto-well, completely zero, and the cabin was perfectly visible.
- Otlechit Anton, slowly moving his fins, somehow got it in the salon.- I'm shunted, and shunts don't take root. So, the son, I incite a debit with the credit-with what to God I will go.
And you're nothing, sympathetic. Another ran past, and you decided to help. It turns out I owe you one.
Any would help,- I have shrugged shoulders.
He asked me who I was, who I worked for, how I lived. Put one validlink under his tongue and calmly summed up:
- A beggar? How about I give you this car, son? I'll do one last good deed.
Hi,, him in his position only to joke and remained.
- Well, give, give,- I played along with him.- Fill only do not forget that with a full load.
Get your passport!
Why would you?
- The notary. We'll issue a General power of attorney to you. Today, baby, you got a lucky ticket.
In General, for a long time to explain this. Yeah, probably not necessary, except to say that in the afternoon of the same day in the courtyard of our house was parked MY brand new Beemer, flashing his chrome bells and whistles.
I stared at him through the window, then ran to him and almost kissed him passionately in front of the astonished passers-by.
And the whole whirlwinds of pleasant thoughts raged in my head. Damn, he's on four Leman pulls, no less - engulfed me glee. - And this is - in fact - the apartment!
And after a controversial, almost taboo, the solution inspires me:
"No, we will keep it with Julia, we will ride in spite of our previous failures!»
I had a right, however, driving experience in the big city was almost not.
However, now it turned out that we had said goodbye to poverty. I was so tempted to call his beloved to Peter and to charm her such a blatantly great news, well I still couldn't decide how to present it to her our random acquired.
After thinking carefully, I wanted to "change the terminals" and tell Julia that the car I ... earned. Yes! Here, for example, this version: Hollywood has noticed my story and bought it, though with the right alterations and improvements.
I have already managed to get the money, could not resist and bought the best car for her, for Julia (thus I would have pleased her and his creative status increased in her eyes).
Of course, it would be more logical to buy an apartment, well, I bought a BMW, because she – Yulia - more than once admired such a machine, when she came into her field of vision.
Now Julia has a reason to think about driving courses!
Yes, that's what I was going to say, but the trouble is, that day the wife fell out of the mobile access zone, and did not appear in it until Sunday. And on Monday she was supposed to be back.
I did not find a place for myself, I was not happy was the same car, I did not know what to think.
"Probably hit her there somewhere for this her IPhone", finally I lost heart, and was going to go to the police on Monday. But to his horror realized that even don't know what's the address of the store where his wife worked, and St. Petersburg "port" of these courses, too, were a mystery to me.
Sunday after lunch, Julia called, and I machine gun - using frequent matucci - sent to up all think about it.
- Fuck you to hell,- retorted the wife.- My phone broke down. Can you understand that?! You don't want to meet me, just say so. I can't stand this shit!
Honestly, that was the first time she talked to me like that. She wasn't that angry, she was just furious.