Love at the speed of AIDS Last year, on the day of the fight against AIDS, I found a story for one TV channel. They loved sentiment. Syrup intonations, talk shows in the style of "Wait for me" and centennial peppy old women enjoyed great success. That's why...

Love at the speed of AIDS

IN

last year on the day of the fight against AIDS, I found a story for one TV channel. They loved sentiment. Syrup intonations, talk shows in the style of "Wait for me" and centennial peppy old women enjoyed great success. Therefore, regarding AIDS, I was instructed: let there be something life-affirming. There was also a noticeable lesson in this conversation: “Understand, these are also people!” However, I had no illusions about the spiritual qualities of my employers for a long time ...

And I found the plot. In a certain medical institution with an anti-AIDS profile: they gave out disposable syringes, held conversations, provided psychological and sometimes material assistance, examined ... I contacted the chief of this institution, begging for a "couple of episodes." She found one. And instantly grew to a full-fledged independent drama.

The next day, in the boss's office, I was left alone with a remarkable couple. Their names were Olya and Sasha. Both are sick. Both of them have been to the bottom in their time. They lived next door. Always liked each other, but at a distance, and did not communicate. Sasha ran in "sixes" with local bandits, worked for a dose. Olya slept with everyone in a row - again for a dose. By the way, she is from not the last family. “Hooked” on a camping trip, to lyrical songs by the fire. And I went on a hike with an institute group. And because of her studies at the institute, Sasha has always been perceived as a high-flying bird, which cannot be reached.

They got sick almost at the same time. In fact, they learned about it almost at the same time. Sasha is undergoing a forced examination: he was caught during a police raid on brothels. And Olya is one of those rare drug addicts who are not devoid of reflection, so she went to get checked out of her own free will. Some kind of action was just taking place, anonymity and possible support were widely advertised ...

At that time, life constantly pushed them together. Changes in appearance were obvious, and there were rumors. But each was self-flagellating and had no idea that the other was experiencing the same thing. It seemed to them that the disease had become an insurmountable barrier. That everything is lost, that it was necessary to get acquainted earlier. And it was very embarrassing.

... What immediately catches the eye is bad skin. Both. Olya and Sasha are very thin, only Olya is small and not without grace, and Sasha is very tall and bony. They were all dressed the same, in tattered jeans and frayed sneakers. And in general they are similar - not like husband and wife, but like brother and sister. They smoke non-stop (and, by the way, they lament that they cannot quit, but there is simply not enough willpower for this). They speak in hoarse, as if broken voices. Olya's voice is especially frightening - completely masculine. She also has long hair, too thick and beautiful, terribly contrasting with her appearance. At first I even thought: is it a wig? It turned out they were. She then explained, rather confusingly, but clearly, that hair is, as it were, her illusion of a normal life. Something that makes her feel like a normal person. Something that makes her, as she puts it, "cling". Olya, of course, has no money for expensive care products. But, feeling sincere interest, she willingly began to share with me various folk recipes. Some herbs, roots, mixtures, rinsing with vinegar ... I even wrote down something under her proud dictation ...

She gave up first. I decided to take a step. Познакомиться. It happened in a peculiarly romantic setting. Late in the evening, Olya went out to take out the trash. Returning, I saw Sasha smoking in an abandoned gazebo. She asked for a cigarette. We got talking.

Then they started talking all the time. And they even determined a place for meetings - over a pond in a remote corner of a dangerous park. Olya brought sandwiches, they sat with their jackets spread out under them, and gradually told each other about their not very happy life. They felt sorry for each other, but could not tell the last thing - that they were sick.

These relationships have become dear to them. They liked to talk. They were afraid they would have to stop because they knew too much about how people get infected and die.

This time Sasha took the first step. And they are both still proud of this act of his. The act was precisely masculine: the relationship approached the inevitable pre-bed border. He hesitated for a very long time, thought about disappearing and even hiding everything. And yet, once he said that they would not have anything, because he was sick and could infect her. And then she too will die.

I was amazed at their frankness. Quite calmly, looking at each other with a smile, they told how Sasha, unexpectedly for both, burst into tears. And how she began to stroke his head. And as she said, feeling that she was making a “pleasant” surprise, that she was also sick.

Then I explained to myself this impossible confession. It was probably the only normal moment in their lives. Like in a movie about normal life. Explanation - a terrible confession - a reciprocal confession - catharsis - love - a sense of refuge and "couples forever."

Further in their life began a stage of relative prosperity. There was something of a sectarian communion in this. With neophyte enthusiasm they threw themselves into social work. Olya by that time was already a volunteer of this same medical institution. Now Sasha began to work with her. They shamelessly acted as guinea pigs, negative examples. Conducted seminars, distributed literature, distributed syringes and condoms. They felt more than just needed and important. They felt that they were being cleansed, justified, expiated. The establishment loved them. The boss patronized them, sometimes invited them to tea in her office, gave advice and consulted. However, contrary to her advice, Olya and Sasha did not use condoms - this seemed to them absurd, given the circumstances. Anticipating my question, Olya said that if she became pregnant, she would not have an abortion: she had read that there was a chance of having a healthy child. If anything, her parents will raise this child ... And she said that now she really wants to live. Just as strong as before - not to live. That they will seize every opportunity, try, strive against relentless predictions and symptoms.

I remember walking away from this interview with a feeling of a “brick on the head”. An unnatural, wrong, impossible aura of family happiness, personal fulfillment, social utility... Coming from whom? From them?! Struggling with my own doubts and inertia, I made a plot. The words about the child and condoms were thrown out of it, the piece about the “dark past” was shortened and syrup and pathos were added. As far as I know, Olya and Sasha were satisfied with the plot.

... And this year they called me and said: “Do you want to make a story? Well, about those ... Continuation, huh? To be honest, I didn’t really want to - it turned out some kind of shameful exploitation of history. But she called.

And it turned out that there was nothing to shoot.

Olya is still working, although she feels very ill. Sasha left. Both from work and from Olya. I could not stand it, I finally wanted to live the life of a free man - in my understanding, of course. Correct consciousness and decent existence disgusted him. I wanted bad people and other women. Or maybe he wanted no one around to know WHAT he was, no matter what sign his otherness was given ... During the farewell quarrel, Olya threatened that information about him would be made public, that she would personally warn everyone he happened to meet, that he is sick and dangerous. Then Sasha took everything from the house, as they say, meager savings and left the city in an unknown direction.

At first, Olya went crazy, tried to demand something from her superiors - almost put him on the wanted list. At the same time, she built her jealous game in a childishly naive way: the main argument was Sasha's ability to infect others. Then she disappeared, stopped showing up at work. The boss, usually not too sentimental, got worried and went to Olya's house. Caught her in a full-blown suicidal depression. For a long time I tried to dissuade, realizing that there were no arguments and arguments in favor of life in this case. Suddenly there was only one, very cruel. He did work. Defiant of all the norms of medical and human ethics, the boss said rudely: “Why are you breaking your brains now, how better to hang yourself? Anyway, so and so, die soon. Wait for yourself!"

And Olya calmed down. It works, although without the same enthusiasm.

And she also shaved. Almost to the root.

Lesya Orlova