In the Kremlin

Paratov Forever

October 24, 2005 Alexander Ryklin

Of course, the key episode of the sixtieth anniversary of our main filmmaker Nikita Mikhalkov is Putin's arrival on Nikolin Horus with congratulations . Generally speaking, Mikhalkov was not lucky with the date of birth-in winter everything would have looked better.

Imagine - a bright sunny day, a light haze of frost, the president at the gate is transplanted from a limousine to a sled and covered with a fox fur coat. And the porch has already gypsies, bears, Philip Kirkorov with a guitar. Everyone is dancing, singing. With a tray in his hands, a batman froze. On the tray of a glass of vodka. And at that moment, when the sleds became at the threshold, the doors of the house open, Mikhalkov runs out onto the porch in one shirt and rushes to meet a dear guest. From him, as from a good horse, steam is falling. The president, cringing, crawls out of the sled and immediately falls into the mighty hugs of Nikita Sergeyevich. Meanwhile, gypsies rage around, bears roar, Kirkorov on their knees torments the strings of their guitar. Mikhalkov grabs the hands of a pendant-hazel: “Look, Natasha, I promised you that I would show Putin, so he granted us himself. Kiss your hand faster! ” The girl tries to fall to his knees in front of the head of state, but he picks her up and kisses her hotly on the lips. Everyone laughs and applaud. Putin finally lets the beauty, drinks a glass of vodka in one gulp and easily runs along the steps. Behind him with a hoot and whistle, the whole company rushes into the house. And only a young gypsy freezes on the threshold, she holds her hands by the face, her cheeks are burning, and a friendly one comes from the house: “He came to us, came to us! ..”

But now it’s not winter, so there was nothing like that. However, “I came to us, I came to us ...”, of course, it was. And there was a television entrance to the porch. True, not a sled, but a limousine. But - with Putin driving. And Mikhalkovskoye through a smile: "Who are you driving?" And Putin, in response, is also with a smile: "So I drive myself." And then, as usual in Russian people, hugs and a friendly kiss. And already at the table - pies with a special filling, an ear of white and red fish, which must certainly eat with wooden spoons, the Blackmorrhea tincture “Konchalovka” - the grandfather's recipe. (Putin drank, smacked and said: “Tasty”). Mutual toasts, again kisses, wife of Nikita Sergeyevich, who was very piquly hanging over the president. The president leafing through the presented book in leather tens of binding. The book about what and how Russian nobles ate in the 19th century. (And what Putin gave Mikhalkov left behind the scenes-it’s a shame.) And everything is so simple, familyly, no strict costumes, ties. (Only grandfather, the author of the anthem, in a touching butterfly, but he is old, he can.) In a word, a warm home atmosphere.

I have no doubt for a second that the vast majority of our viewers, watching all this, wiped off tears of tenderness. But not all the same. I sacredly believe that not all. Someone, like me, was sick.

At this place it would be necessary to put an end to. But still I can’t help but say a few words to the hero of the day. Instead of congratulations, or something.

Nikita Sergeevich, dear, come to your senses! You were once a “unfinished play ...” removed, and “slave of love”, and “your own among strangers ...”. It only seemed to you that you were accepted by the Emperor-Emperor at home. It was Putin Vladimir Vladimirovich, a lieutenant colonel of the security department. Well, that is, not even Benckendorf ...
Alexander Ryklin

---

All rights to materials located on the EJ.ru website are protected in accordance with the legislation of the Russian Federation, including copyright and related rights. With any use of the site and satellite projects, hyperlink (Hyperlink) on EJ.ru is required.