Country fly out, and their songs leave with them

Even on such a carnival of life as the Brazilian World Cup, people are gradually tired of being happy

Even on such a carnival of life as the Brazilian World Cup, people are gradually getting tired of being happy. About why and how this happens, in the report of our special correspondent

Photo: Reuters

The midday heat retreated, but the air was still gust - at least scoop up with a spoon. The shadow half closed the mountains, and only their granite peaks shone with a bright flame, reflecting the sun's rays. Above Kopakabana was a haze that came from the Atlantic. Through this veil, the world was seen melted as a picture with which paints flow. The figures of people were melting, and only their shapeless silhouettes, slowly soaring in this haze, could be distinguished. It was difficult to understand where the ocean ends and sand begins; Where else the water flows, and where the sky is already breathing - everything mixed in this languing ether.

And suddenly a pirate schooner floats out of this fog. A real such three -masted frigate with a huge skull and bones drawn on board. “That's it,” I thought, “it's time to pump with this train -“ Squirrel ”came.” And the hand reached out to the head to check whether my gorgeous triangle with a large peacock feather was bought a year ago for one cruzado at a one -eyed rogue of Guillerme from Barbados. The British saved on the right when one of them shouted: “Your division! This is his mother, a pirate ship! ”1 - He took out his camera and began to click. Yeah, everything is in order, I'm in the 21st century. Reason is rather alive. And all this is in reality: a huge screen, football, Mountain Michaular, ropes of a funicular, capacabana and a pirate frigate slowly walking along the beach.

I managed to watch the end of the Brazilians with the Chileans at the Rio de Janeiro airport, flew out of Kuritiba. All halls were clogged by people, they sat, stood and lay right on the floor, putting backpacks under his head. Wherever you turn around - screens and football. The noise was unimaginable. Either the Chileans begin to chant the chants loudly, then the Brazilians cut them off their hugs. A young Brazilian sat in front of me, who was so carried away that he began to lead the game of his team, like a conductor, waving his arms and finger showing the right direction of the programs. And he was sure that all his instructions reached the players through the TV. When the team followed his instructions, he shouted approvingly: "Yes, yes, like that." When the Brazilians were mistaken, he screamed heart -rendingly throughout the hall: "Caralo!" - What would I translate as "damn it!".

When it came to extra time, he jumped up, as scalded, and ran to the gate for departure. “That's it,” I thought, “the account will find out by arrival.” But not even a minute had passed, he returned, sat in his former place, waved his hand and again dug into the screen. How many more as he, they decided to themselves that day at the airport: “May they disappear these tickets!” Amazing, right? How often people, ended with chains of everyday worries and duties, are ready to send them to hell even for love or friendship? But the game comes, and a person forgets about everything in the world only in order to see how Julio Cesar pulls a decisive blow.

Chiletsev is a pity. Their team and fans made the atmosphere of this holiday. Their song is "Chi-chi-chi-le-y-y-Viva Chile!" She became a real hit throughout Brazil. At first she was picked up only by meeting the Chilean fans. Now this exclamation can be heard on every corner.

The same thing with the Mexicans who have torn over the Argentines. When the first met the second, they began to shout: "Messi, Messi, Messi!" The Argentines, thinking that they were given to the leader of their national team, with a grateful look raised their thumbs up. And at this very moment, the Mexicans finished their song with a unexpected and long scream in chorus: "Messes-si!"

But the teams fly out, and their songs leave with them. Even today, these cries, picked up by the crowd, are rushing at you from all sides, and the next morning you already hear only their miserable echoes from those who lingered at the tournament a little longer than their teams.

The group stage of the championship is good in that everyone understands: there are at least three games, which means ten days of the holiday. And by and large, few people were interested in the result in those days. While matches in groups were going on, there was an amazing time of universal happiness, love and relaxation. No worries, no anxieties ... those who lost the chances at once, such as the Australians, simply enjoyed the ocean, from the mountains, from this air and other people, as happy as they are. The same thing with those who left the group - they just knew that they had a little more days in reserve than the losers.

But the closer the final, the higher the tension. During the game of Greece with Costa Rika, I first saw a fight in the fan zone. At some point, the crowd poured at me, retreating from fighting. A wide circle formed, in which the Colombians knew either with the Uruguayans, or with the local Brazilians. Fought a man of 10-15. In them, plastic mugs with beer flew from all sides, the people around began to whistle condemningly. The fight lasted no more than five seconds. And then the circle closed again, as if there was nothing, as if the boys had left, spit the seeds and parted.

This is the first sign: people get tired of being happy. Pain - she is also necessary for a person as cold movements to the ocean. The desire of a person for self -destruction is nothing to cancel, even this carnival, otherwise people would live forever.

And in the evening there was a paw ... I wandered along the crooked streets paved with a mosaic, past the old crumbling low houses painted with bright graffiti. Yellow-green garlands hung overhead. From the sidewalks they sold Kashasa and Kaipirin. Children in slaps rushed behind the ball. Rivers of horse urine flowed under their feet (from the patrols of the horse police) and smelled of how happiness should smell: a female body, reed vodka and fresh manure. I reached Selaron.

Those who can describe this ladder with the words of a language need to be awarded the Nobel Prize in literature. I am powerless, so I just ask you to look at the photograph and know that all this is the work of one person, an artist who lived here and died on the same steps, leaving an eternity and making his name eternal. Have you looked? Now imagine the evening; lights are burning; People are sitting on the steps; Before me, beggars raggers sing a song to the guitar about their missing life; Three steps are higher - young guys with strong naked torso and drunk beautiful girls knock out the rhythm on the drums - the anthem of youth and love; The couple squeezes in the corner, and everyone sees them, and they know that everyone sees them; And we smoke with the poor one cigarette for two - I start, he finishes, one after another; And we let the rings of smoke that float into the night expand, taking more and more stars into their circle; And new people come to our song and sit on the steps and begin to sing along; And now all the steps are busy; And people sing quietly; And light sadness is poured across the city; And this is no longer a staircase; This is already alef, the point at which all the paths of the universe intersect; This is already a road leading to the world of cold stars; And we are sitting on the eve of this world, with our backs to it, hugging and afraid to turn around.

Introduced? I hope not only after that evening I wondered: “Why are we, our mother, not always like that?!”

Rio de Janeiro

1 Here is my free translation, excluding English obscene vocabulary.