Linor Goralik: Five Peregression stories

... Here, say, in the lesson of the children's book club, the teacher discusses with the group of good smart seven -year -olds “All summer in one day” Bradbury. They talk about crime and punishment. “Imagine,” says the teacher, “that in front of your eyes, two children beat the third unfamiliar to you. What to do?" - “Interchant! Call adults! Sit for help! .. "" Good, - to say the teacher. “Now imagine some classmate that you really do not like.” Introduced? And now you are going, and two children beat this unpleasant child. What to do?" A second of silence. The teacher rejoices at the teacher. Someone timidly says: “Well-oo-oo, all the same, it would be necessary ...” Someone still confidently remarks that she is probably “being beaten for business”. And only one girl with a straight back firmly says: “Interpret and drive them away, of course!” And, before the teacher manages to open his mouth in his joy, adds: “And then finish it off!” Sighing, the teacher asks: “Katya, but you don’t beat this girl, right? And then why? " “And she is strong,” Katenka answers clearly, - And then she will weaken! "

... Here, say, the poet Polina Barskova is trying to buy a T -shirt from a gypsy. “What do you think,” he asks, “take fifty -second size or fifty -fourth?” “Take the fifty -fourth,” says the gypsy, looking at Pauline appraisingly, “you are lively.”

... Here, say, the small Moscow entrepreneur T. in his youth, who came to the early nineties, belonged to a rather large gangster conglomeration. There was shooting, there were jackets, every gesture was - such guys. T. was a completely boy on the run, but the big one was a distant nephew, so they trusted him and took him with him to everything - to learn life. The favorite phrase of the big was the phrase about gray mudi. “Here you are, Vasya, lived to the gray-haired mude,” he said to one of his colleagues, “but stupid, like Pinocchio.” Or there: "Here you are, the left, lived to the gray -haired guns, but you don’t know how to fill up." Well, of course, they blew up a large one with the car, Vasya sat down and quickly ran into a sharpened fork, the partners were removed through the left of his own apartment, and T. somehow got out, came to his senses and engaged in a small, quite vegetarian business, raises children, everything is fine. His favorite phrase to this day is about gray mudi. “Every morning,” he says, “I look in the mirror and mutter:“ I lived to the gray -haired guns. I lived to the gray -haired mude, bl *** ”.”

... Here, let's say, a little boy, hanging on a mother’s hand in the middle of the Riga station, begins with an insinuating whisper: “Mom, you know, I no longer want to be a person like you to grow me. I want to yell in the metro-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah !!! "

... Here, say, the young journalist N. is an extremely intelligent appearance, with a delicate beard and round glasses, enters the unloved dark gateway, which you will not get home. In the gateway of a young journalist N. is waiting for a shadow of unpleasant outlines - stands in the dark, does nothing, is clearly waiting for prey. N. is not done. The shadow is suitable and asks in an empty voice to smoke. N. did not smoke, but from horror begins to clap himself into his pockets, as if a pack of cigarettes could be a mystical way. The shadow stirs with a lighter, illuminates its loose face and begins to look at the prey in the flickering light of the flame. The young journalist N. lowers his hands at the seams and makes it clear with all the appearance how he incredibly regrets that he did not find to smoke. "No?" - hoarsely asks the shadow that does not promise anything good in a voice. “No ...” - honestly says N. “Poor you, right?” - says the shadow. “Not rich,” N. honestly says, “Sorry,” says the shadow. - Solzhenitsyn, you know, said that an independent citizen cannot be without private property. Because of people like us, Russia cannot be seen. ” With these words, the shadow is again pressed against the wall and goes into the darkness, and the young journalist N. is standing for some time, moves his mouth.