At night, right outside the door is the sky.
Marukhin took the bucket, stepped over the threshold and whistled.
– Radiance?
– And swans.
Having thrown on our quilted jackets, we went out onto the porch. Not far from us, behind the dark forest, hundreds of swans were screaming. Every year they gather here before departure, the swan station…
Voices rang in the cold air, reminiscent of the distant barking of dogs, and greenish lights of an elusive shape flowed high above us, in an instant they crossed the sky – I saw the speed of light!
The piercing cries of birds and the bright cold of the night brought us chills.
– Well, that’s enough.
We returned to a warm house. “The carts creak at midnight like disturbed swans…”
Marukhin knows this creaking of carts, the sobbing and shaking of an ungreased wheel… As a child, he was stolen and carried around in a camp by gypsies. Almost everyone has something hidden from themselves.
A special property of memory is not remembering what you know.
How delicious! – dried bagels and “Plum” fruit candies lying around in the backpack.
Today I discovered them, and now we are enjoying our evening tea.
A quiet dinner in the rays of a kerosene lamp, a light, joyful body…
– Old age is coming! – Marukhin said cheerfully and on the fly caught a steel spoon that had slipped from his fingers.
– While she was flying, I thought that I would have to wash her, but no! From the table to the floor – less than a meter. The fall time is about… seconds. But I caught her! How old am I now? By passport or by consistency of movements?
After drinking tea, we feel a burst of energy and don’t want to sleep, like in our youth. The lights from the slightly open door tremble on the walls and on the floor. You can lie down, dream and listen to the wind howling above us, Bach chorales, chimney solos, polyphony of attic chants. And the sadder they are, the more comfortable the house is.
The river is transparent to the bottom. Golden aspen trees rustle on the hill.
Oleg put on a beautiful shirt and, smiling, said:
– For compliance.
Marukhin whistled in surprise.
– And I have a new shirt…
– Put it on!
Marukhin opens the suitcase. No shirt.
– Then I’ll find it.
We go out onto the porch. Oleg laughs…
– He wrapped the NZ in it.
Oh, Marukhin! Your reserves of provisions and noble ability to tolerate guests, wait out dreary rains, shine a flashlight under wet aspens and fir trees – waiting for the salmon to move, clean dishes with sand and juniper, beautifully cut fish on a board, undress in the wind and, plunging into icy water, are inexhaustible. get the spoon stuck between the stones. Wet gold sparkles in the palm of your hand.
– Keep it for yourself, Marukhin!
Marukhin moves easily, almost silently, I don’t remember him falling or tripping, if you call, he instantly wakes up.
Easily carries two backpacks without a reproachful glance. Gray hair ennobled his face. Responsiveness and delicacy have become subtler. Once I read poetry to him – a drop of heaven warmed on my forehead – he silently showed me his hand covered with goosebumps.
Over the years, some have lost their impetuousness and slenderness, their faces have turned into wrinkled old mushrooms, and Marukhin has gained.
I think that, unbeknownst to himself, he began to imitate his reflection and his thoughts began to match his appearance. Previously, he was ideologically correct and cautious, but the funerals of old directors and poor cameramen, seditious words at the coffin, wakes with unexpected revelations – led him off the intended path onto a path covered with golden leaves. It won’t lead anywhere, only to the river.