Linor Goralik: five stories about connectivity

... Here, say, the writer G., the monarchist and Patriot, was invited to a decent house, where he was shown a man who was in our state the main caviar. This man, who treated the caviar production gathered, said, among other things, that growing sturgeon is expensive and long, because the female has puberty in about the eighth year (“In the second grade!” - the writer who usually did not let into a decent house eagerly assented). Therefore, killing a female sturgeon for the sake of caviar is pure madness, and instead there is such a technique as “milking”. A fish weighing 20 kilograms - severe, bony, prickly - he grows up about a person (“in the second ...” - the writer of G. willingly began, but they stepped on his foot). The sturgeon (sturgeon? Sturgeon?) A brigade of six people: two hold, one cut out the egg, two more iron their hands, and the foreman tells the fish affectionate words, breathes with it into three counts and matters the wards. The writer G. was delighted with this story and for some reason saw something like that, soil, powerful and thunderbings in it. “What a country! He repeated all evening. - What sturgeon will give birth! Five sturgeons milk one sturgeon! One sturgeon, darling, feeds, means five sturgeons, and their foreman, and the authorities of this foreman, and the director of the plant - all this sturgeon feeds all, the fish, such a glorious sea drill. ” But when the third, and then the fourth portion of the sturgeon product appeared on the table, the writer G. began to boring. He thought that sturgeons probably feel alienated from the labor process and its products; What caviar is for sturgeon by something external, not belonging to its own essence. That the sturgeon is mighty, harsh and dark, illiterate, but original and brilliant, and that the affectionate words of the foreman are just a “revolution from above”, usually coming too late. And that we already had such a situation in a very near historical past, and how it ended, everyone remembers very well, and that, by the way, the last time it also began some kind of shipbuilding. And the further the writer of G. imagines the fate that, in a certain case, awaiting these most five sturgeons, their foreman, the head of this foreman, director of the plant, and especially all kinds of monarchist writers, the stronger, unfortunately, he wants to take this soft Russian caviar.

... Here, say, after a round table about how everything is terribly bad in Russia with sources of reliable information, the molecular biologist A. sees a terrible queue to the door of the library toilet, grabs her husband by the sleeve and in horror says: “Something terrible happened! The terrible thing happened! " "Why?" - asks a frightened husband. “I don’t know,” the molecular biologist A. honestly says “but for some reason they all drunk?”

... Here, let's say, when the future philologist K. was five years old, the intelligent grandmother led her to the Pushkin Museum to look at David. David was beautiful, curly, white and future philosop K. quite liked. The intelligent grandmother excitingly told the future philologist K. The whole story about Goliath, about the resourcefulness of the future king, about what power even a very young person can inform a sincere faith - in a word, she told everything very well. But the topic of why this curly white David is so naked, my grandmother tactfully went around, and the future philologist K., who usually asked her grandmother six questions per minute, did not ask anything about it - to a big grandmother's relief. In the evening, the future philologist K. very coherently told her parents about Goliath, David, the power of faith and the resourcefulness of the future king, who was very young, did not give him any weapon and he strangled Goliath with a washcloth. Well, there was a naked in the bathhouse with a washcloth on his shoulder, saw Goliath ate, smell, prayed, strangled Goliath with a washcloth and went on.

... Here, say, the television producer T. calls the beloved plumbing "Sewer Star."

... Here, let's say, the culturalist D. is horrified when his young daughter -in -law offers to poison Krotov in the country. Because the culturalist D. did not like to go to the cottage himself and never in his life did not want a mole, but in childhood he often played for himself the fairy tale “Thumbeline”. What is this “inch” - the cultural scientist D. in childhood, of course, had no idea, and the role of an inch in his troupe always played a Soviet toy nipples tall 12 centimeters. Accordingly, all his life, the culturologist D. believed that the mole is a creature with the size of about a small cat. And so he imagines how it stands in the garden, and they lie around him ... lie. Having spread these pink paws. Under the feet, like the repentant Godzilla, and it seems even in the smoke of fires, since the culturalist D. is very nearly and very lanky. And he very sharply his son and daughter -in -law expresses his dissatisfaction with the idea of ​​poisoning moles and adds that he, of course, does not go to the country, but his legs will not be in this damned garden, because he will be like a mountain of corpses at his feet. And in general, how to bury these corpses later? Here the son does not stand and barks: "In jars from under yogurt!" In a word, the culturalist of D. is explained about the true size of the mole, and he, very dumbfounded, realizes about inch, and about that and about, and everyone laughs at the dad, as we have, dad, touching. And in the evening they tell the guests this story, and the next day the daughter -in -law rides in the suburbs and very successfully poisoned moles there, and the story of dad and moles retells everything for a long time, a good story. And as for the persecution, the culturologist D. somehow completely ceases to worry and does not even remember. He is a blizorok, a culturologist D., and the moles are tiny, from a height is not visible.