In the moonlight

It so happened that many years ago I found myself in the modest company of ordinary teachers of the famous Peoples' Friendship University. black African freedom fighter Patrice Lumumba, to whose death the Soviet people responded with the following emotional, sincere song expressing indignation:

Ubili, Gadi, Patrice Lumumbu,
And Chomba is dancing a rumba in a tavern...
This Chomba, who, as I remember, bore the rank of colonel of an unknown force, was the adversary of the progressive Lumumba, he, in fact, killed him: this is an old matter, many more have been killed since then. The point is not in Tshombe and Lumumba, but in the teachers of that very institute, where, together with Soviet boys and girls, students from the so-called developing countries of the mentioned Africa and Marxist Latin America studied, including all sorts of communists, as well as the famous terrorist Carlos Ilyich Ramirez, about whom I said the famous writer Friedrich Gorenstein, who was married to a Chilean woman in his first marriage and now, unlike Carlos, who is in prison, lives in Berlin.

These teachers were simple, good people, a little frightened by the perestroika unfolding in the USSR, the impending poverty, they drank, ate and talked a lot about their students, whom they taught Russian and loved. In particular, about how their African pets love to sing Russian and Soviet songs. Teacher Luda said: “I almost cried when Mgeba, a dark-haired girl from Ghana, suddenly sang, with an accent, of course: “In the moonlight the snow turns silver. The troika is rushing right through the snow" - "And the rest supported her with a choral chorus: “Ding-ding-ding, ding-ding-ding. The bell is ringing,” added Lyubin’s husband, also a teacher, named Volodya, a man with an unforgettable face. “Negroes too?” I asked, who at that time had absolutely no concept of political correctness.

They answered me something, but the point is different. Namely, that the other day the devil took me by invitation to one of the Moscow restaurants, which I have no right to name, so that there is no advertising. There I was immediately struck by the fact that standing at the entrance was a natural (now I know how to speak!) not a black man, but a black one in Russian felt boots with galoshes, a hat with earflaps and a robe as green as a crocodile. "You are welcome to come in!" - he shouted.

Everything inside was also very beautiful. There were stuffed animals with grinning mugs, colorful snakes hanging on dry trees, and a bubbling pool (as they explained, with real piranhas). There was a wigwam, a copious amount of buffet drinks and snacks. This space was filled with a lively human hum of approval. Someone gave a speech about how we live in difficult times, but life goes on.

And suddenly some, perhaps not quite young, but quite black face in the sparkles of a concert dress, bracelets and rings, suddenly sang to the accompaniment of an instrumental ensemble:
- In the moonlight the snow turns silver.
The troika is racing straight through the snow.
- Ding-ding-ding, ding-ding-ding.
The bell is ringing,” everyone present supported the singer. The talented black woman was sung along by the famous poet I.I., writer E.P., editor Zh.E., image maker V.U., politician (of considerable rank) F.K., deputy E.B., bandit A.B. , communist G.Z., other prominent figures in Russian science, culture and politics.
And soon I left the hospitable establishment of the restaurant, seriously thinking that no one has canceled the friendship of peoples in our country and that this friendship goes beyond all boundaries, although the institute named after it now seems to be called something else. That this friendship is expanding, growing, foaming like champagne, silvering in the moonlight. That new times have come for genuine friendship of peoples and political correctness. As I was leaving, I noticed a stately gentleman with an unforgettable face, but wearing a tuxedo and smoking a long, probably expensive, cigar. Having recognized him as teacher Volodya, I was embarrassed to approach him, and he, most likely, really did not notice me. His wife was nowhere to be found, but then I discovered that it was she who was imperiously commanding the well-trained waiters. "You are welcome to come in!" - I heard for the last time, and that was the end of my social life that day. I am very glad that everyone, including Mgeba and me, found a place in this life.