Translated material
Vote
The alarm clock rang meticulously. Valentina Leonidovna opened her eyes slightly, yawned blissfully and lightly bit her curled lips. Touching her sweaty forehead with her palm and removing the sticky hair, Valentina Leonidovna bent down and slowly sat down on the bed. The digital wall clock showed half past six in green numbers.
Near the bed, on a brown shabby chair, hung home clothes - Valentina Leonidovna pulled on a woolen jacket, covered her legs with a loose skirt, covered from top to bottom with paisley patterns, and soon shuffled from room to room.
Valery Yakovlevich was still sleeping. Valentina Leonidovna shuffled to the window, slightly pulled the thick yellow curtains, yawned again and turned to her husband:
- The day has come... We lived, we survived... Stop snoozing, Valerka...
Valery Yakovlevich mumbled a hollow and inarticulate answer. Valentina Leonidovna got closer to her husband and began to open his blanket.
- Get up, get up, child! Look how the sun plays - it burns through the curtain...
Valery Yakovlevich did not dare to resist. The blanket was immediately crumpled up and put aside. The whitish nightgown, which only half hid Valery Yakovlevich’s weak body, left two stubby pale stumps open to the morning light.
- I’ll give you the prosthetics now... Just sit down, sit down! - Valentina Leonidovna commanded and shuffled out of the room.
She soon returned, holding a clanking pair of steel legs in her hands. Valery Yakovlevich sat on the bed and helplessly looked at his trembling hands - his large, calloused palms were mercilessly devoured by a restless, restless tremor.
- What happened this morning, Valer? How it shakes! How are we going to wash ourselves? Give me your legs here...
Valery Yakovlevich moved to the edge and heavily lifted his right, hardened stump. A blackened hole was visible inside the stump. Valentina Leonidovna placed the steel leg against the stump and began to carefully rotate the prosthesis. First one, and then the other. Valentina Leonidovna bent down as she exhaled, took out two lopsided wooden crutches from under the bed and handed them to her husband.
- Here are your crutches... Come on, fighter, walk around. Let's go to war! — Valentina Leonidovna laughed good-naturedly.
Valery Yakovlevich strained himself and slowly leaned on one crutch. Mumbling incoherently under his breath, he grabbed the second one. Having taken a short step and rested a little after such a maneuver, Valery Yakovlevich nodded affirmatively to his wife, thereby, as it were, announcing that he would soon finally adapt, in general he felt cheerful and was in full combat readiness.
“Then let’s take a bath.” I’ll just put the kettle on, and you wait.
Valery Yakovlevich obediently remained in his place. Valentina Leonidovna hurriedly shuffled through the entire corridor, finally turning into a narrow tiled kitchenette, dimly lit by only one wooden window. The match instantly lit the burner. Valentina Leonidovna placed a black enamel teapot on the stove with a crash.
The sun's rays ran playfully along the corridor - Valery Yakovlevich tried in vain to trample them. Not without the help of Valentina Leonidovna, he hobbled diligently on crutches, occasionally squinting his left or right eye. Valentina Leonidovna walked behind and gently encouraged her husband:
- The cat has pain, the dog has pain, but Valerik - no, no, no pain!
In response, Valery Yakovlevich only snorted with displeasure and tried with all his might to speed up his pace.
- Well, sit down! - Valentina Leonidovna commanded, leading her husband to the edge of the bathtub.
Valery Yakovlevich tilted, squeezed his crutches tightly and, sticking out one prosthesis, successfully landed on the white sloping side. Valentina Leonidovna rushed to help him - a minute later the crutches were put aside, and the dentures rested peacefully in the grayish shell.
Valery Yakovlevich grabbed his wife's neck with both hands and slid heavily to the very bottom.
“We’ll clean your back, wash your legs with a washcloth, dress you in everything clean and smart...” Valentina Leonidovna lamented, pouring slanting streams of shower over Valery Yakovlevich.
Laundry soap and a tattered washcloth were used.
“I’d like to treat your bristles with pig’s bristles... Pull out the hairline.”
Valentina Leonidovna reached into the wall cabinet hanging near the cloudy square mirror, picked up a straight razor and began to look for the blade.
- Everything disappeared, they hid it... Valerik, who stopped your blades?
Valery Yakovlevich looked gloomily at his wife and, relaxing his neck, quickly nodded towards the sink.
- Found it, you old fool! I look and I don’t see...” Valentina Leonidovna giggled.
Generously soaping her palms, Valentina Leonidovna tenderly reached out to her husband:
“At least close your eyes, it’ll sting!”
Valery Yakovlevich patiently closed his eyes and craned his neck again. Valentina Leonidovna smeared foam on his rough cheeks, chin, mustachioed area of the upper lip and neck.
When the water procedures were finished, Valentina Leonidovna pulled a striped towel from the coil and hastily began to rub her husband’s back, while a drawn-out sniffling could already be heard from the kitchen.
“Look, he squeals like that...” Valentina Leonidovna whispered, looking Valery Yakovlevich straight in the eyes, “I’ll be late on schedule!”
Having wiped both stumps dry, Valentina Leonidovna began to screw the prostheses into them. Valery Yakovlevich impatiently waved his heavy hand, thereby demanding that his wife quickly take the kettle off the stove.
- Well, what about swearing?... Don’t you want to? Or himself with a mustache? - Valentina Leonidovna asked with obvious doubt, presenting her husband with his crutches.
Valery Yakovlevich just shook his head and leaned on his own creaking pieces of wood. Valentina Leonidovna blinked in surprise and, remembering something about the teapot that could not be forgotten, she quickly shuffled to the kitchen.
Tea was poured from the teapot into mugs. Valentina Leonidovna took out butter from the refrigerator, a piece of hardened domestic cheese and several slices of liverwurst, pale against the background of brown food paper. Valery Yakovlevich appeared at the door at the very moment when his wife was turning the wheel of the radio.
Valery Yakovlevich muttered furiously.
- You wanted to turn it on yourself?! So call me, we’re waiting for you, we’re waiting, but you still don’t come and don’t come! The tea is getting cold! - Valentina Leonidovna shouted, getting ready to make a sandwich for her husband.
Valery Yakovlevich hobbled to the table, hunched his back and slowly sat down at his edge, dropping his crutches to the floor. His dancing hand painfully reached for the radio.
The radio station “Voices” hastily chewed on the latest news: “We remind you that the All-Russian Unified Voting has already begun in the morning... ten parties are currently taking part in the elections... and-and-and it must be said... yes, it certainly must be said that this morning half of the representatives of the elected parties have already managed to cast their votes... such as: Igor Nesterov, Gennady Zherebyatyev, Nikolai Bakunin, Vyacheslav Stavitsky... Elections are held in specially organized district polling stations...”
The polling station for Valery Yakovlevich and Valentina Leonidovna was located in secondary school No. 512.
Valery Yakovlevich diligently held the trembling sandwich, slowly biting and chewing, every now and then listening to the voice of the announcer. Valentina Leonidovna sat opposite, with her husband’s cup in her hands, and was looking forward to the opportunity to open her mouth again.
“Wash it down, drink it down, don’t rush…” Valentina Leonidovna said, helping Valery Yakovlevich drink tea, even though he didn’t ask for it, “Whose fault is it that the handles are hooks…”
The tremor has weakened significantly. Valery Yakovlevich extended his hand to the cup, tensed his fingers with concentration and slowly took it from his wife.
“You’re the one…” Valentina Leonidovna said, confusedly got up from the table and silently walked to the sink.
When the tea was finished, Valery Yakovlevich leaned his palms on the table and started working with his legs. The steel prosthetics moved deftly. Valentina Leonidovna turned around and looked at her husband excitedly.
- What's wrong, were you shaking? Just can you do it, Valer?
Valery Yakovlevich turned his back and walked twitchily into his room, trying with all his might to exclude his wife from the area of his own attention. Forgotten crutches were left lying on the floor. Valentina Leonidovna hurriedly shuffled after:
- Valerik, save up some strength! I’ll help you, sit on the bed, sit down and stretch out your little legs!
Valery Yakovlevich did not make a sound. Guided by unknown forces, he solemnly walked through the entire corridor, quickly turned into the room, walked up to a wooden cabinet and sharply opened the door. Here, in the black depths of the closet, in splendid isolation hung a ceremonial military uniform, carefully ironed by Valentina Leonidovna, decorated with a dozen gilded medals. The next moment, Valery Yakovlevich clearly saw how his military orders and awards absorbed all the sunlight concentrated in the room, flaring up brighter and brighter with the sacred flame of the Great War. Valery Yakovlevich staggered - his lowered hands shook slightly with excitement.
- I’ll help, I’ll help! To the crib...” said Valentina Leonidovna, hugging her husband by the shoulders. Valery Yakovlevich sighed humbly and obediently moved towards the bed.
Valentina Leonidovna took her uniform off the hanger and said thoughtfully:
- Aren't you going to freeze?
Valery Yakovlevich looked askance at his wife and clanged his dentures demandingly. The sun's rays reflected off the metal. Valentina Leonidovna smiled and began to dress her husband.
- But still, he’s as handsome as he’s on parade! — Valentina Leonidovna admired, holding the iron door of the entrance and letting Valery Yakovlevich forward, “Come in, come in, my darling...”
Valery Yakovlevich took a few clanking steps, twitchily walked out of the entrance and sniffed the cool autumn air with hidden pleasure. Valentina Leonidovna came close to her husband and bent her arm at the elbow.
“Bo-bik took the bug under the arm - they began to dance, and bar-bo-sik - a thick nose, began to play the fiddle...” Valentina Leonidovna sang playfully, thereby inviting her husband to take her by the arm, like a bug. Valery Yakovlevich did not refuse help - the couple trudged along, carefully stepping along the wet sidewalk.
They moved in silence for some time.
- Let's get there! - Valentina Leonidovna cheerfully blurted out, turning the corner of the brick house and finally breaking the blissful silence, - Looks like school, Valer!
Valery Yakovlevich strained his eyes, trying as he walked to peer into the gray, blurry distance - the elusive space of the street was limited to asphalt roads and crumbled curbs, only here and there domestic cars could be seen parked by universal boredom and loneliness.
“There’s probably a lot of queues there... They’re eager to give up their voices, to change their lives!” — Valentina Leonidovna reminded herself.
Valery Yakovlevich occasionally clinked his dentures. Wet, yellowed leaves stuck to his trampled boots.
- What a goblin, by God! — Valentina Leonidovna laughed, casually glancing at her husband’s shoes, “You’re jumping through the puddles, why are you getting your shoes wet?”
Valery Yakovlevich tried to speed up his pace. For a moment, it seemed to him that he was finally able to break away from the pursuit of Valentina Leonidovna.
- Where did you go! Save your strength, Valerka, there won’t be enough for the return trip!
Valery Yakovlevich still moved ahead with the same detachment, and Valentina Leonidovna still restlessly trotted after him.
At the entrance to the building of secondary school No. 512 there was a flabby private security officer, mortally tired of his own dementia. Trying to amuse himself, he playfully waved the hand-held scanner and tried to count the aimless Mondays in his swollen mind. Behind the private security company, on the broken tiled floor, there was an entrance turnstile that did not work at all and was lowered.
Valery Yakovlevich looked blankly at the lowered turnstile, turned his gaze to the private security company, and, lifting his trouser leg, nodded at the prosthesis. Valentina Leonidovna did not hesitate:
- He has prosthetics there, they’ll squeak!
The flabby private security officer indifferently waved the scanner and, having completely lost count, said:
“After all, I am not guarding the gates to paradise, but the abyss, from which there is no way out, neither living nor dead - here human voices know no prayers or curses, and thoughts about the world lose all hope, becoming covered in the suffocating ashes of oblivion.” Souls are drowning in darkness, driven by fear and eternal hunger, from which there is no salvation.
After passing through the turnstile, the couple stopped near the school locker room. Valentina Leonidovna looked around and without hesitation turned to her husband:
- It’s the second floor, we’ll trudge up the stairs again... Can you?
Valery Yakovlevich could not restrain himself. His stately figure loomed over Valentina Leonidovna. The palms began to shake again with a slight trembling - by sheer force of will, Valery Yakovlevich was able to tense his index finger and slowly apply it to his lips. Valentina Leonidovna grimaced and began to remain silent.
On the second floor, along the entire perimeter of the school corridor, wooden student desks were displayed. At the desks, as if behind barricades, sat plump women - specially hired and trained caretakers. Each woman had long, curved lines, consisting mainly of pensioners and disabled people.
Valery Yakovlevich slouched tiredly and took several discordant steps towards one of the desks.
— They’re decorating the house here for the first time?! Thirty-one... thirty-one! - Valentina Leonidovna shouted, not really addressing anyone.
Faces turned to her.
- Shuda, tritshat first, shuda! - the hunched old woman muttered loudly, protruding from the looped snake tail of the third line.
Valentina Leonidovna tried to touch Valery Yakovlevich, but he proudly stood aside.
- What kind of apartment is yours? — the hunched old woman would strike up a conversation.
In her gnarled hands was a short water pipe, which somehow served as her cane.
“Sixty-ninth, entrance four...” answered Valentina Leonidovna casually, who was closely watching Valery Yakovlevich, “He’s up and standing like a lamppost!”
- Your little guy? - the old woman asked.
“My dear darling...” Valentina Leonidovna said with a sigh.
Valery Yakovlevich quickly studied the curving tails of the bursts. Here and there figures appeared that evoked fits of irrepressible curiosity: lame, lopsided, sick - all these people, at the very first glance, inexplicably seemed almost like family to Valery Yakovlevich.
Here, very close, in the looped snake tail of the first stage, there was a small man, hunched over on an old children's sled, which forever replaced his missing legs. Valery Yakovlevich peered at the shortened figure of the small man: the wooden parts of the sled were completely replaced by rusted metal - it seemed that the rider’s torso was soldered into a steel coating. The little man looked around in panic and, like a lost child, tugged at the clothes of the people around him in a vain attempt to find out which line he should be in. Valery Yakovlevich exhaled heavily and mentally thanked God for his steel prostheses.
Turning around and looking in the other direction, Valery Yakovlevich saw a rather pretty woman, who had just come from the street, stop near a wall painted with cheap beige paint. Her slender physique and freshness of face allowed Valery Yakovlevich to give her only fifty, perhaps fifty-five years of life. In appearance, the woman did not stand out in any way - except that the handbag hanging on her shoulder, tightly stuffed with unknown contents, could attract the attention of the exhausted prisoners of the queue. Valery Yakovlevich smiled and began to observe. The stranger slowly unbuttoned her coat and pulled off her black wool beret from her head. Instead of hair, the thinnest silky threads of a reddish string bag fell onto the woman’s shoulders. Having opened her large handbag and put a piece of whitish cheese and a couple of rings of Krakow sausage into a string bag, the stranger deftly threw the luggage behind her back and, taking a breath, moved towards the first line she came across.
- Valery! — Valentina Leonidovna’s voice boomed.
Valery Yakovlevich came to his senses and clanked guiltily towards his wife.
- Did you look like someone there? Did you smack Targovka with your eyes?!
Valery Yakovlevich did not react to his wife’s attack and stared at the back of someone’s head. A muttering sound was heard from somewhere below:
“You guys didn’t come here to spy, but just to get things done...
Valery Yakovlevich took a step back and noticed the hunched over old woman. Her right hand was still pressing on the water pipe, and her left hand was frantically straightening her crooked scarf. Valery Yakovlevich looked angrily at his wife and stomped on the prosthesis.
- You’re also a snarler! — Valentina Leonidovna was indignant.
“Wow,” the old woman drawled and lightly tinkled the water pipe against Valery Yakovlevich’s steel leg, “Wow.”
Valery Yakovlevich turned purple. Unable to tolerate such close attention to his own person, he advanced on the old woman and with a heavy movement of his foot knocked the water pipe out of her hands. Having lost her balance, the old woman instantly fell onto her back and hissed furiously:
- Sh-sh-sh-uchara... Sh-sh!
Valentina Leonidovna perked up and with a slight cry rushed to pick up the flying pipe. The old woman hissed restlessly, sprawled shapelessly on the cold floor. Someone's authoritative voice was heard in the crowd:
- Whose pipe? Draw? Yours? Not yours? Mine will be... A good pipe, a high-quality pipe... Wait, in a minute I’ll be mulberry.
Valentina Leonidovna gasped.
The snake's mouth opened wide - from the very beginning of the second line, an unknown middle-aged man emerged, clutching the plumbing cane of a hunchbacked old woman in his hand. A long vacuum cleaner hose trailed behind him like a tail. Valentina Leonidovna stepped forward and blocked the man’s path:
— Return the pipe to the owner.
A middle-aged man stopped, looked carefully at Valentina Leonidovna, and, as if by chance, put his palm to his chapped cheek - a gold medal flashed under his right swollen eyelid. Valentina Leonidovna pulled back and said in a squeaky voice:
-Are you a veteran?!...
The middle-aged man smiled guilelessly and placed the water pipe on his wide palm.
- Is it your pipe?
- Not mine, not mine, hers! - Valentina Leonidovna exclaimed joyfully, pointing her hand towards the hissing old woman.
The middle-aged man turned around and in a few steps found himself near the lying figure. The old woman's palms slowly clenched and unclenched in vain attempts to grab hold of the air. A middle-aged man bent down and carefully placed the pipe in her right palm - within a second the prostrate figure froze, bent like a snake and briskly began to rise. The middle-aged man stretched out both hands and helped the old woman to stand.
“Sh-sh-pa-shibo...” she hissed gratefully, reverently stroking her iron cane.
- Don’t thank me, mother, don’t thank me! Better hold the pipe, turnip!
- He's a lice, sh-sh-shuchara... He's knocking the hell out of him! — the old woman muttered angrily and pointed her finger in the direction of Valery Yakovlevich. He became noticeably embarrassed and pursed his lips furiously.
A middle-aged man pulled the vacuum cleaner hose towards him, clenched it firmly in his fist and walked towards Valery Yakovlevich, the gold medal in his eye socket flashing menacingly:
- I am the wind! I am the people's strength! I am pain and memory!
Valery Yakovlevich took several retreating steps and ran into someone’s soft back.
- Shoo! Attentively! - the line chirped.
- Why the hell offended grandma?! — the middle-aged man continued.
Valentina Leonidovna rushed to help.
- This guy doesn’t talk! Yakovlevich’s name is Valery...” Valentina Leonidovna babbled, finding herself in front of her husband and sticking out her massive chest.
The middle-aged man carefully examined the figure of Valery Yakovlevich from head to toe and calmly asked:
- Is he mute in the gallery?
- Dumb, dumb... He’s a little shell-shocked, he’s also a veteran! Still from that war, the combat front.
Resolutely throwing the hose onto the floor, the middle-aged man froze in admiration - his gold medal, peeking out of his empty eye socket, went out.
“Baevo-oh-wow...” he said in fascination and extended his wide palm to Valery Yakovlevich in greeting, “Vladlen Borisych, veteran of the peaceful front... it’s nice to shake your hand...”
Valery Yakovlevich responded with a short handshake. His gaze dropped to the hose. Vladlen Borisovich smiled greasyly:
- Yeldin was scraped off... One and two and three and no more! So he gave the veteran a hard time. The evenings were satisfied with cheap young women. They were cheap, which means they were a bit biting... So they ate my boriska. We ate it in three or four sittings... Well, I think, why would the living place remain empty? I consulted with my friends and they helped me. They attached the unit... I'll suck it myself, whoever wants it!
Vladlen Borisovich burst out laughing. Valentina Leonidovna smiled embellishedly and looked awkwardly at her husband. Valery Yakovlevich was gloomy.
“Okay, friends, I’ll go to my rightful place, it seems I’ll be next...” Vladlen Borisovich said quietly and disappeared behind the narrow, exhausted backs.
The queue has noticeably shortened. Valery Yakovlevich and Valentina Leonidovna were fifth in a row.
“Just a little more... Let’s reach out...” the hunched old woman muttered again, trying with all her might to stretch her neck.
Valery Yakovlevich turned his head to the right and saw a nimble young man blindly crossing neighboring lines. The young man was rapidly approaching, his lips trembling non-stop. The hunched old woman, as if at the call of her heart, turned around:
- Nikolushka! Have you come for your grandmother? See, I'm still tormented...
- I am Russian! — the nimble young man bawled, not paying attention to anyone, “I’m Russian!”
Nikolushka stood enchanted next to the old woman and, without saying a word to her, continued to repeat his spell.
“Snimai, schnimai, steamed up... It’s still a schoolchild, don’t understand...” the hunched over old woman wailed, turning to her distraught grandson.
In Valery Yakovlevich’s ears it was repeated: “I am Russian... I am Russian...”. He tensed internally and began to tactlessly examine the young man: completely unremarkable blond hair, a thin rain jacket, the true look of a degenerate. Completely forgetting about the buttons, Nikolushka began to take off his raincoat over his head. Valery Yakovlevich's gaze revealed his thin arms - the entire visible surface of Nikolushka's skin was covered with collectible postage stamps. Valery Yakovlevich sighed sadly and turned away.
- Apartment sixty nine... sixty nine! - Valentina Leonidovna shouted, every now and then glancing at her husband, “He doesn’t talk, he’s silent...
Valery Yakovlevich sat obediently on a chair, located near the school desk, and waited patiently. A short-haired female caretaker was turning over the pages of a thick address book:
- Thirty odi-i-in... Sixty-nine... Morozov?
“The Morozovs, the Morozovs... Both he and I, all the Morozovs...” Valentina Leonidovna waved her hand and turned her head towards the voting booths.
A short-haired woman made a mark in the book, pushed it towards Valery Yakovlevich and pointed her well-fed finger at the empty line:
- Sign here...
Valery Yakovlevich concentrated and, overcoming the trembling in his hands, wrote his squiggle. Since the book was not turned over, the signature was placed upside down.
Handing Valery Yakovlevich a blank ballot, the female supervisor nodded towards the booths:
- Any free time.
Valery Yakovlevich exhaled and with a powerful jerk stood on his prosthetics. The veteran's eyes burned desperately with fire. Valentina Leonidovna gasped and said in fascination:
- Well, with God...
Valery Yakovlevich clenched his free hand into a fist and carefully carried the ballot to an empty booth. Valentina Leonidovna imperceptibly crossed her husband and quickly sat down in his place.
The cabin was a bit cramped. Valery Yakovlevich threw back the blue cloth, which ensured complete privacy of voting, and placed the ballot on the table built into the wall. There also lay an ash-black ballpoint pen - Valery Yakovlevich awkwardly bent his fingers and, picking it up, began to read the bulletin. On the left side of the ballot there were clearly printed squares for marking, while on the right side there were a strict dozen named parties:
Valery Yakovlevich’s gaze touched the first one - “Gosvoydynoe”.
Valery Yakovlevich’s gaze touched the second one - “Gosvoydynoe”.
Valery Yakovlevich’s gaze touched the third - “Gosvoydynoe”.
Valery Yakovlevich’s gaze touched the fourth - “Gosvoydynoe”.
Valery Yakovlevich's gaze touched the fifth one - “Gosvoydynoe”.
Valery Yakovlevich’s gaze touched the sixth one - “Gosvoydynoe”.
Valery Yakovlevich's gaze touched the seventh - "Gosvoydynoe".
Valery Yakovlevich's gaze touched the eighth - "Gosvoydynoe".
Valery Yakovlevich's gaze touched the ninth - "Gosvoydynoe".
Valery Yakovlevich's gaze touched the tenth - "Gosvoydynoe".
Valery Yakovlevich thought and tried hard to remember each representative of the elected parties - words and faces were mixed up in his head:
This guy, with a red tie, was in favor of education, they say, education in our country has completely failed after the collapse, they say, a lot of stupid things have come up, they say, it’s the working people who suffer first of all, because, whatever one may say, the smart ones suffer from the stupid ones, and the stupid ones suffer from the smart ones, and yet he’s w-lu-lu, shmu-lu-lu, he doesn’t give a shit about increasing the number of schools, but what quantity, what quantity, fuck you in the ass when the quality needs to be steadily improved! And that one over there, the chiseled drawing, harnessed himself for free medicine, tore his mother’s shirt and swore by his own mother, they say, come to me for treatment, both the cow and the she-wolf, get up straight and walk from here, and everything is free and for nothing, everything with a joke song, a joke and an asshole, look, we will eradicate paid medicine, we will kill, so to speak, in the bud, We are legalizing abortion, so it’s good for you - you won’t have to go to the aibolitikha, you won’t have to shove a dining spoon into a girl’s bosom... I also remember this - the bald bugger promised to raise pensions, cut workers’ taxes, but this nit shouted that one day he would close the border for good, hang the Steel Curtain! These two, two chatterboxes, can only wag their tongues and can’t find any pensions or benefits! Alles tsuzammen, pizdochen shvarts! The backstage will immediately be covered with holes! They will sit at the feeding trough - just remember your lot... But all that is needed is just a little, it is necessary for the country to rise from its knees once and for all, for someone zealous to shout in her ear, so much so that she would go deaf: Get up! Get up, who are they telling?! Get up, dog! Get up, you bastard! Get up, you fucking bitch! Get up, you dirty bastard! Get up, you bastard! Get up, subcutaneous louse! Get up, blackened rot! Get up! Get up! GET UP! Get up, huge country! Rise to the death! With fascist dark power! With the damned horde! Let the rage be noble! It boils like a wave! There is a people's war going on! Holy war! Like two different poles! We are hostile in everything! We fight for light and peace! They are for the kingdom of darkness! Let the rage be noble! It boils like a wave! There is a people's war going on! Holy war! Let's fight back the stranglers! All fiery ideas! Rapists, robbers! Tormentors of people! Let the rage be noble! It boils like a wave! There is a people's war going on! Holy war! Black wings dare not! Fly over the Motherland! Its fields are spacious! The enemy does not dare to trample! Let the rage be noble! It boils like a wave! There is a people's war going on! Holy war! Rotten fascist evil spirits! Let's put a bullet in the forehead! The scum of humanity! Let's put together a strong coffin! Let the rage be noble! It boils like a wave! There is a people's war going on! Holy war! Let's go smash with all our might! With all my heart, with all my soul! For our dear land! For our great Union! Let the rage be noble! It boils like a wave! There is a people's war going on! Holy war! A huge country is rising! Stands up for mortal combat! With fascist dark power! With the damned horde! Let the rage be noble! It boils like a wave! There is a people's war going on! Holy war!
- Valerik! Help?! — Valentina Leonidovna’s voice was heard. Valery Yakovlevich shook his head - the ballpoint pen shook uncertainly. A tickling excitement crawled through my body. Valery Yakovlevich leaned on the table, pressing the tip of the ballpoint pen tightly to the ballot - an uneven crosshair appeared opposite the fifth candidate.
The blue canvas was pulled back. Valery Yakovlevich moved out of the booth and saw his wife. Clutched in his right palm was a ballot paper folded in half.
“I’m already done... I’ll take you to the drawer,” Valentina Leonidovna rushed to her husband and tried to grab him by the elbow, “Everything is more convenient...”
Valery Yakovlevich dodged and, glancing sharply at Valentina Leonidovna, confidently walked towards the transparent box. Каждый шаг прибавлял волнение — Валерий Яковлевич внимательно смотрел в пол, стараясь случайно не обронить бюллетень.
На дне ящика притаился целый бумажный ворох. Валерий Яковлевич остановился, сжал кончиками пальцев левой руки сложенный бюллетень и направил его в узкую щель. Бюллетень изогнулся и остался в руке Валерия Яковлевича. Тремор вновь разгорелся в ладонях. Валерий Яковлевич сделал повторную попытку, но ничего не получилось.
На помощь явилась Валентина Леонидовна:
— Всуну, Валеричек, всуну!
Валентина Леонидовна спешно шаркала по полу, брезгливо посматривая на возмущенных смотрительниц. Валерий Яковлевич обернулся и хлопнул дрожащей ладонью по прозрачному ящику.
— Й-а-я-я… С-с-а-а-м-м… л-я-я-я — яростно проговорил Валерий Яковлевич и исступленно затопал протезами.
Валентина Леонидовна отпрянула. Взгляды очередей были прикованы к происходящему возле ящиков для голосований — Валерий Яковлевич холодно посмотрел на зевак и вновь потянулся к заветной щели.
Тремор горел пожаром. Валерий Яковлевич взял бюллетень двумя руками. Ладони покачивались, унося бумажный лист все дальше и дальше от узкого отверстия. Лицо Валерия Яковлевича покраснело. Под парадным мундиром сразу же стало жарко. Валерий Яковлевич сжал челюсть и вымученно заскрежетал зубами, да так, что по щекам полились редкие, скупые слезы. Валерий Яковлевич закряхтел и вновь попытался засунуть бюллетень в ящик.
Внутри что-то рванулось. Валерий Яковлевич замер и почувствовал резкий запах собственных испражнений. В какой-то момент ему показалось, что очереди дружно охнули. Валерий Яковлевич опустил левую руку и через штаны потрогал свой зад — добротная ткань парадных брюк была теплой и влажной. Валерий Яковлевич повернул голову в сторону Валентины Леонидовны. Жена смотрела на него широкими глазами.
— Обосрался! - she screamed.
Ноги Валерия Яковлевича подкосились.
Он упал на пол, хлюпнув вырвавшимся жидким калом и по-прежнему сжимая в руке сложенный пополам бюллетень. Валентина Леонидовна завопила и бросилась к мужу.
В толпе звучали голоса:
Обосрааааааался! Shit! Обосрааааался! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Обосрааааался! Shit! Обосрааааался! Shit! Shit! Обосраааааался! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Обосраааааался! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Обосрааааался! Shit! Обосрааааался! Shit! Shit! Shit! Обосраааался! Обосрааааался! Shit! Обосраааааааался!!! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Обосрааааался! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Обосраааааааался! Обосраааааался! Shit! Обосрааааался! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Обосраааааааался!!!
Затемненная шторами комната лишь наполовину освещалась прощальным закатным светом. Валерий Яковлевич лежал в своей кровати, бессмысленно уставившись в потолок и содрогаясь мелкими, концентрированными конвульсиями. Валентина Леонидовна металась из комнаты в комнату, трепетно осведомляясь о здоровье мужа и не давая ему заснуть. В очередной раз вбежав в скорбную обитель Валерия Яковлевича и остановившись напротив его кровати, Валентина Леонидовна взволновалась:
— Валерик, так можеш чайком согреешься? Можеш почаевничаем с тобой? Я чайник мигом поставлю, ты глазки-то не затворяй!
Валерий Яковлевич быстро моргнул. Мычать, а уж тем более пытаться выговаривать полноценные увесистые слова, было невмоготу. Отныне жизнь Валерия Яковлевича с треском разделилась надвое: сперва появилось воплощение скукоженного, зажатого в самом себе «недосущества», способного взаимодействовать лишь с собственными «недосущественными» потребностями, а уж затем возник горький омут неудач, смешанных с кислым позором.
Когда Валентина Леонидовна скрылась за дверным проемом, Валерий Яковлевич с усилием сполз с кровати и подобрал с пола свой деревянный костыль. Перевернувшись на живот и вспомнив военные годы, он неуклюже пополз к двери и подпер ручку костылем. Вернувшись ползком к кровати, Валерий Яковлевич взял в руки блестящие протезы и стал жадно ввинчивать их в похолодевшие от долгого лежания культи.
Оскверненный парадный мундир висел на стуле. Валерий Яковлевич сделал несколько дерганых шагов, гневно посмотрел на испачканные жидким калом штаны и китель, и отчего-то расплакался. Сняв с вымытого и оттого неприятного самому себе тела ночную рубашку, Валерий Яковлевич начал сдергивать с кителя светящиеся в вечернем солнце боевые ордена и знаки отличия. В этот момент он услышал, как Валентина Леонидовна, вернувшаяся с кухни с чашкой черного чая, раздраженно пыталась открыть подпертую дверь.
— Валерик, открой! Do you hear?! Open up! Щас чай твой весь выхлебаю! — упорно кричала она.
Валерий Яковлевич не вслушивался в слова жены. Сосредоточившись на орденах и гордо выпрямив спину, он стал прикалывать их на левую сторону груди — в бессмертное пространство плоти, близкое к сердцу. Морщась от боли и прикусывая дряблую нижнюю губу, заполнил и правую сторону. Кровь жарко стекала по сухому животу Валерия Яковлевича, спускаясь ручьями к паху и нежно согревая холодную сталь лязгающих протезов.
— Валерик, ты ж за кого ж голосовал хоть?! — забилась в слезах Валентина Леонидовна.
Устав от непрекращающихся воплей жены, Валерий Яковлевич взял в окровавленные руки второй костыль и направился к двери. Через минуту он распахнул Валентине Леонидовне голову.
Иллюстрации: Ксения Горшкова