The last day

“Such things” offer readers the story of Alexei Motorov, the author of the novels “Young Years of Medbrate steam locomotive” and “Crime of Dr. Strelozov”, about the August coup of 1991-something elusively reminiscent of the current summer

Dedicated to Tatyana Malkina, who changed the course of history

Night from August 20 to 21, 1991

Moscow. Krasnopresnenskaya embankment

How many times do I pass by this place today? Yeah, I cut at least ten circles, but I still will not dare. Although it is not clear who I can be ashamed of, because now everyone is clearly not up to me, it is also dark, but still somehow uncomfortable. Okay, I’ll still go from the barricade and back, I’ll wait for the people to be a little nearby, maybe then.

Although what a little there, with every minute, people just arrive. And they are thoroughly prepared, correctly equipped, they have storms, raincoats, at worst-jackets and raincoats, backpacks behind their backs and heavy boots. And I am in some summer slippers and a thin sweater, and under such a rain everything was wet through and through.

I always envied people with strong will and spirit, they do everything thoroughly. They calmly put a backpack, slowly and select a wardrobe on occasion, dine tightly, and then approach the desk, take a blank sheet of paper and take it out with even handwriting: “If I do not return, money in the upper box, I forgive everything!” In short, it is good to be a confident person. Here, in addition to the conviction of the correctness of your thoughts and actions, you will also fight for the freedom of democracy well -fed and dry on the barricades.

And in the morning I swept away, twitched, still could not understand what to do. To the hospital, or to run, get into intensive care again, take the wounded? And why did I only quit from there a month ago? And all my pride, I decided that the fifth course was ahead, enough to wash the floors. Or go to the city center, where did the dissatisfied people go on the streets? And while I was so stupidly fussing, on short waves of “Freedom” it was reported that in the White House, waiting for the assault, they asked to leave the building of all women - deputies and maintenance staff.

Then I put a pack of cigarettes in my pocket, some trifle, a pass on the subway, thought and took off my watch with a wedding ring. He shouted to Lena that he went for bread and fled. I didn’t even have time to dine. First, I decided to drop in the hospital, to score cans with Polyglyukin, Bintov, Zhgutov and droppers, then I realized that I would not have time. I’m going to the subway, and I think: now these bitch will be blocked by all the ways to the White House, then I will swear myself all my life, which I did not immediately rush there. And the people in the wagon - who reads the book, who tells the neighbor a joke, many apples from the cottages are being taken, as if nothing was happening. But on the “barricade” everything was already different: a dense crowd was seething both on the platforms and in the lobby, and the trains were brought by more decisive people, brave women leaflets and newspapers, they distributed, someone turned the Russian flag, and the man next to the escalator right into the ear: “The ulcer is down!” - And the crowd picked up: "Hurray !!!"

At the White House of the people there was darkness who builds the barricades, who listens to the radio, and the majority, like me, dangled back and forth. By evening, the rain as charged, and does not stop, you can already squeeze me out. Someone let a rumor that the people here were fed here, some businessmen sold out, but where this is happening is incomprehensible, and nothing to make out in such a dense crowd. And so, when I began to cut circles, wet, cold, hungry, then on the railing of the Kalinin bridge I saw, although a tired but untouched bar of Shcherbet, as if hello from childhood.

August putsch. White House defenders build barricades photo around him : Vladimir Filonov/Photoxpress.ru

Previously, this Shcherbet was sold in each confectionery department for a ruble of eighty per kilo. And suddenly now he lies, ownerless, on granite, like a gold ingot, and for some reason, besides me, no one is surprised at this, even no one looks at him. Apparently, everyone is distracted by messages about the movement of the columns of armored vehicles, about a possible landing from the sky, about a gas attack. In short, everyone here is preparing to die heroically, and I think of all nonsense. I think: who, interestingly, managed to buy this Shcherbet and where? Because nothing of the kind in stores has long been sold. Already cigarettes with vodka on coupons, and sugar according to coupons, and these coupons are far from being made, not always to be convinced, as business cards were introduced for a year - this was how the buyer’s cards with a photographic portrait of the citizen and the seal of the housing office began to be called. But, despite all the desperate measures, there are fewer food in stores every day, and the queues are longer than it, and here is such a treasure on the bridge.

Or maybe they decided to destroy the people on the instructions of the GKChP in the KGB? They crammed Shcherbet with some poison and threw it into the crowd, then to dump on Yeltsin, they would become from them. No, rather, some old woman bought by accident this morning in the famous Bread store on Kalininsky, reached the bridge, and there ... And what, interestingly, is there? He was in the river in the river, but before that she put the shherbet carefully on a piece of paper? In general, it is incomprehensible, but I want to eat from this, okay, I’ll make a circle and, if no one grabs such good, I still decide.

I got off to the central entrance of the White House, here the crowd is the dense, everyone climbs to stare at several BRDM cars, on which the paratroopers led by a general named Lebed rolled. And, as they informed me in the crowd, this general assured that his paratroopers would not shoot at people, well, thanks for that. A fighter crawled out on the armor of one BRDM, cigarettes, a loaf of bread, some more food, the guy deftly picked up all this and again disappeared into the armored personnel carrier. At that moment, when he turned in my direction, I managed to make out his smiling face in the light of the spotlight.

“How does Gusev look like our Lesha,” I even shuddered. “He was also a paratrooper.”

Our Lesha Gusev ...

First May 1983

Moscow, City Clinical Hospital No. 7

It is good to mow from the army and at the same time wallow in your own hospital. Frankly, I didn’t really mow, I just needed to confirm the diagnosis of peptic ulcer. And it was very easy to confirm it, since sleepless nights on duty do not contribute to the healing of ulcers. However, sleepless nights do not contribute to any other healing. But all of ours treated me as a simulator and said that he was shook from the army and cooled in therapy at Bronstein, and only I showed up in their intensive care, I was immediately soldered to everyone who is not laziness.

We always lacked the staff, but if there was a hunt to learn anything, no one refused. Therefore, I have learned to do such things for my first part -time work as not every doctor will see at least once in his life. And on any day it was happening here that then it was possible to remember for many years. For this reason, I did not sit in therapy, or rather, did not lie.

And what therapy can be when there are so many interesting things in the intensive care, especially in the spring. In the spring, if anyone does not know, daylight hours are increasing. And an increase in daylight hours causes an increased emission of hormones in the body of mammals. A person here is no exception. And if in most animals in primitive creatures a change in hormonal level leads to just marriage games, then people are much more interesting in people. People in the spring begin to invent all sorts of fascinating activities.

They are jamming each other with knives, jump from bridges into various and cold reservoirs, beat their own similar to their heads and other parts of the body with dull and sharp objects, poison, hang, reveal their veins and arteries from unhappy love, and just drunk. People drunk drunk cars, buses, motorcycles and tractors and they crash into all kinds of obstacles, drunkenly fall under the cars, under trams, for trains and even for farmers. In addition, often, drunk, they burn in baths in their garden plots, drunkenly climb through the drain pipes into women's dormitories, and indeed, almost all of our patients come to us drunkenly. In the spring this is especially felt, since in the spring it is not drunk at home.

And the nurse made of old, T. Tsarkov, caught me in the corridor, pressed me to the wall and said:

- You, impudent erysipelas, do nothing one hell, let's go out instead of me on Saturday, I cry you a quarter. What does it mean I do not want, swindler, he does not want! How did you not fool around in the therapy in the therapy in a bunk? Look at yourself - a freak, leather and bones! Yes, any normal woman will shy away from such a thing! I don’t understand how your wife got married for you, for sure she is crazy. And you will buy yourself for my money - maybe you will get fat!

Well, how can you refuse. Especially for a quarter.

In general, it so happened that every evening I came to intensive care, and I returned to therapy only in the morning.
And after two weeks of these sleepless nights on control gastroscopy, I had not yet found one, but two ulcers. The head of the department, Alexander Semenovich Bronstein, frowned, hastily put me in a thieves double room, prescribed an electron and assigned a new doctor to me.

My neighbor in the ward was a man with a blowing face, the head of the body of the bodies for the "Lada". Apparently, it also became boring to treat his ulcer, only unlike me there was nowhere to go, so on the second day he began to thump right in the ward, without waiting for dinner. And since there was a thump alone, frankly, sadly, the neighbor quickly organized a pleasant society for himself.

One of his drinking companions was called Edik, it was a guy about twenty -five years old with a cunning mug, a thieves squint and a large homeland on his neck. He told all the way how in the army he served in the fuel and lubricant warehouse and sold civilian everything that could be stolen there. And the second companion was Vitya, although everyone called his isotope. He had a huge head, and yellow skin, like a globe. He got his nickname due to the fact that he was taken to a radioisotope scan to the oncological center located next to the next door. The isotope had alcoholic cirrhosis of the liver. But the grandmother of the isotope, who raised her beloved alcoholic grandson, was the director of the gastronom, which at that time was considered an incredible social and career achievement. As the isotope himself said, his mother threw him back in her early childhood and left with Hahal somewhere for the Urals, where she disappeared.

And this newly made trio began to quarrel with some frenzy, as members of the totalitarian sect who are waiting for the end of the world. They delivered vodka by smuggled paths to the bodies of the bodies of the body of the bodies, and the snack in the amount of simply incredible daily grandmother of the isotope from her gastronom. She visited her grandson every day, each time dragging two huge bags into the ward, more like fishing trawls. Before that, it seemed to me that such diversity was present only on the pages of literary works, which described the bully everyday life of the merchants. It turned out no. In some incomprehensible way, the fragments of that rampant were preserved in the utility of some Moscow gastronomes.

And these unscrupulous Bukhariks did not yet differ in appetite. On the table they had a mean minimalism: a can of herring in wine sauce, brown bread and smoked sausage. Instantly at the isotope, food began to accumulate exponentially, it was in the nightstand, and under the bed, and in the refrigerator. Then this turned out to be not enough, and the reserves began to be migrated into the refrigerator and nightstands of our ward. It was possible to calmly open in gastroenterology something like a table of orders, so popular at that time.

The holiday has come on May 1. And here our friends did not work out. The only bottle of vodka, they were capitalized before breakfast, and for some reason the bosom friends did not raise the promised supplement, moreover, as it turned out, they fell on their cottages, which was the limit of treachery.

Then, finally, they remembered about me.

- Lech, your mother, you work in this hospital, get us alcohol, you can’t see - the pipes are burning!

To which I told them, as far as I could, diplomatically, they say, go to the goat on the horn, the khanygs are damned, turned the ward into a stash, you can’t be here. And he went to intensive care. Just in the intensive care, our festive tables organized a festive table, and, as I looked at this treat, it became very sad for me. Several pieces of gray doctoral sausage, sauerkraut, potatoes and squash caviar.

“Girls,” I said then, “I want to organize a banquet to you, not even a banquet, but a gastronomic extravaganza?” Drain the three hundred alcohols!

The girls of course agreed to the extravaganza and leaked the requested amount to the glucose jar.

I returned to therapy and made a short but fiery speech to my alcoholics.

“So why are you silent,” the Isotope was indignant, “this whole plate is still from the kindergarten across the pharynx, but I’ll give it all up with the grandmother, drag my alcohol!”

And then we are four, having driven each two pillowcases to the eyeballs of the delicacies I selected, grunting from gravity, went down the stairs to the second floor to the door of the resuscitation department. Then a solemn act of transfer to the complete satisfaction of the parties was held.

Perhaps never before or after our department there was no such feast as that time. It really was a gastronomic extravaganza, I did not deceive. It was enough until the day of Victory. We sat leaving the duty officers in the blocks, which were replaced every half an hour. We sat for three hours, if not more.

And then they brought Lesha Gusev.

The ambulance that delivered him looked as if she had gotten out from under the shelling: all in dents, with broken headlights, scuffrans, she had a rear glass and even an antenna broke off. The feldsher jumped up instantly reported that they were being taken by a young man, a fall from a height, having managed to add that he was surprisingly alive, albeit the ninth floor.

It turned out that this guy only came home to demobilize the day before yesterday, and not just by demobilization, but from Afghanistan, where he fought as part of the landing and screening brigade all a year and a half after training. Today, in the company of his old friends, the friends, May Day celebrated and, when everyone went out again to the balcony to smoke, suddenly said something like: “And I have everything, I have passed the kandahar and herat!” - And squeezed a rack on the balcony railing of the ninth floor. As it turned out later, before the army he was engaged in gymnastics and was even a master of sports. But now, after the feast, the stand did not work. His legs brought, and from a great height, he crashed into a lawn flat.

Probably, his friends had a shock from what happened, so the drunken crowd just defeated the ambulance in a matter of seconds. Then we will often encounter such a peculiar manifestation of concern for the wounded comrades, especially in the nineties. At that time, it became a good tone to smash the foster chambers of hospitals, run in a crowd into operating rooms, show the doctors to pistols and knives, beat them with baseball bats and bicycle chains. Apparently, this is such a bizarre output of our special spirituality, which patriotic artists of art and politics are constantly talking about.

And the guy was greatly hidden, about my height, but a real athlete with a powerful and embossed muscles. The paratrooper, what do you want. I was entrusted with formalizing the history of the disease, and therefore it was me who was the first to write his name on the title sheet: "Alexey Gusev, 20 years old."

Night from August 20 to 21, 1991
Moscow. Krasnopresnenskaya embankment

I again made a circle and went to my barricade, across Kalininsky Prospekt, which will be renamed the new Arbat after a couple of years. The rain only intensified, I was so frozen that my tooth did not get on my tooth, that’s why I climbed under Sava’s overpass, there someone spread the bonfire and settled at the fire.

The people around the erudite got together, they talked about everything, but mainly about the current situation. That the people have already tried the taste of freedom and no one wants to be at the camp, that if they start shooting at us, you won’t shoot everyone that Novocherkassk is still remembered, and then Moscow, no one will forget this, they said that they, they introduced tanks, called even the most accurate ones.

They also said that the newly-minted saviors of the Fatherland gathered a press conference where they looked caricatured, the journalists did not hesitate to laugh in their face, and one girl stood up and said to these assholes: “Today you have made a coup,” and all this live. But all those sitting by the fire converged in one thing, that in this State Emergency Committee, although cretins, they could be healthy.

And as if in confirmation of this near midnight, people came running from the side of the garden ring and reported that an army column was coming from the Square of the uprising and it would soon be here.

August putsch. Morning. White House defenders have breakfast at his steps photo: Vladimir Filonov/Photoxpress.ru

Then we all jumped up and ran to the barricade, and then stepped forward and, clutching their hands, stood up with a line. And they stood, peering into the darkness, trying to understand what was happening there. And there suddenly there was a loud and very angry line, and the night sky was cut through the tracing tape, leaving somewhere towards Zubovsky Boulevard.

И моментально показались смешными все наши бутафорские палатки с красными крестами, все те кусочки марли, которые раздавали в толпе на случай газовой атаки, как только я представил, что же здесь будет, если хотя бы один танк, выйдя на оперативный простор, врубит по этой плотной толпе очередь из своего ПКТ.

Я стоял в первом ряду сцепившихся руками людей, ровно посерединке. Впервые так остро ощущая уязвимость собственного тела. А вокруг сновали какие-то сумасшедшие тетки с завядшими астрами, убеждающие встречать атакующих солдат цветами, и мне хотелось их задушить. В стороне Садового опять послышались выстрелы, на этот раз одиночные.

Лишь потом мы узнали, что именно в эти минуты пролилась кровь и погибли люди. Когда все утихло и разведка донесла, что колонна ушла, протаранив в тоннеле троллейбусы, я добрался до заветных перил, взял уже почти раскисший брусок щербета и притащил его к костру под эстакаду. На вопрос восторженной публики, где я это взял, потупив взор, ответил скромно, что купил.

1983 год, Москва
Городская клиническая больница № 7

У Леши Гусева все было очень плохо. Тяжелейший ушиб мозга, разрыв селезенки и ушиб легких. Он находился в глубокой коме, и только немногие оставшиеся рефлексы указывали на то, что некая деятельность нервных клеток еще продолжается. Оставалось только надеяться на его молодой и сильный организм, но надежда эта была весьма слабой. Девятый этаж — это почти без вариантов.

Лешиного врача звали Владимир Сергеевич, он был человеком с тяжелым характером, но хорошим и педантичным доктором. Владимир Сергеевич возился с Лешей, не покладая рук, требуя от других того же. Когда у него отросли волосы, он даже вызвал к нему мастера из парикмахерской.

У нас была передовая больница, ее готовили для московской Олимпиады, поэтому там все организовали по последнему слову. Сделали надписи на английском на всех этажах, пошили красивую форму персоналу и открыли парикмахерскую с женским и мужским залами. Когда эта девочка пришла со своими инструментами к нам во второй блок и увидела наших пациентов, то сначала она с грохотом уронила поднос со всеми ножницами и расческами, а потом уже упала сама на наш красивый мраморный пол.

Мы, конечно, быстро ее привели в чувство, все-таки реанимация, а потом отправили восвояси. И я сам обрил Леше голову.

Леша стал подавать признаки сознания только ближе к концу второго месяца, и с того времени с каждым днем у него был небольшой прогресс. Еще спустя месяц он начал говорить. Сначала односложно, потом все более длинными фразами. Один раз, когда все отвлеклись, он вдруг встал с кровати, сделал несколько нетвердых шагов, но не дойдя до стола, рухнул. Позже Леша объяснял, что хотел позвонить домой, маме, увидел на столе телефонный аппарат и отправился. Правда, номера он не помнил, а вот про маму не забыл.

Лешина мама жила в холле у дверей в наше отделение. Это была женщина с ввалившимися глазами, которая мало разговаривала, но того, что она произносила, хватало. Она говорила, что два года ждала сына из Афганистана, что каждый день, пока он был там, казался ей бесконечным. Когда он вернулся, она не отходила от него ни на секунду, даже ночью сидела на стуле у его кровати, держала его за руку, пока он спал. Но этих ночей было всего две. На третий день он упал с балкона девятого этажа.

В августе я ушел в отпуск, опять поступал и опять безуспешно в институт, а когда вернулся в середине сентября, Лешу Гусева уже перевели в хирургическое отделение на восьмой этаж. Вечерами, когда от него уходила мама, он спускался к нам в реанимацию. Я еще издали, не видя его, знал, кто идет.

Такое впечатление, что ковылял глубокий старик, держась за стенку. От его мощной фигуры не осталось и следа. Голова, казавшаяся огромной, торчала на тоненькой шейке, как на стебельке, тоненькие ручки, тоненькие ножки. Наверное, он весил сорок килограмм, не больше. Он подходил и спрашивал закурить, даже не спрашивал, а свистел через трахеостомическую дырку.

— Сейчас у душманов стингеры, — рассказывал он, зятягиваясь. — Вертушки сбивать научились, падлы. Но когда вертолет работает, хер там потом от кого пряжку найдешь.

И он с шумом выпускал дым из дыры на тонкой шее.

Потом Леша Гусев опять загремел к нам, на этот раз у него началась спаечная болезнь после удаления селезенки. Мы его подлечили и снова отправили в хирургию. Через месяц он попал к нам по причине стеноза трахеи. Спустя пару недель его опять подняли в отделение. В общей сложности из полутора лет, проведенных Лешей Гусевым в больнице, семь месяцев он находился в реанимации.

В редких случаях у нас лежат недели две. Реаниматологи с двадцатилетним стажем могут по пальцам перечислить пациентов, которых они лечили больше месяца. Таких помнят по именам, фамилиям, диагнозам и прочее. Семь месяцев, хоть и с перерывами, что провел у нас Леша Гусев, — это был абсолютный рекорд.

Сказать, что мы к нему все привыкли, — это ничего не сказать. Каждый в нашем отделении провел десятки бессонных ночей рядом с ним — и когда он был в коме, и когда он начал приходить в себя, и когда он задыхался от стеноза трахеи, и когда погибал от пневмонии, при этом мы все что-то с ним постоянно делали, я имею в виду физические действия. Мы его кололи, вешали капельницы, подключали ко всяким аппаратам, вводили ему пищу в зонд, а позже кормили с ложки, а главное — без конца мыли, перестилали, перевязывали.

Наверное, я не сильно преувеличу, если скажу, что Леша Гусев стал для многих из нас близким человеком.

Ночь с 20 на 21 августа 1991 года
Moscow. Krasnopresnenskaya embankment

Я даже умудрился задремать у этого костра — тепло, хорошо, какая-то добрая женщина налила мне чай из термоса, а бородатый мужик с гитарой очень увлекательно рассказывал про пионерский лагерь под Форосом, куда он ездил в детстве, а теперь в этих местах сидит под арестом Горбачев.

А я тоже было собрался рассказать про свой пионерский лагерь, хотя там, насколько мне известно, никого в застенках не держат, но в это время через репродукторы объявили, что к Белому дому стягиваются военные части, укомплектованные азиатами и кавказцами, и что нас скоро начнут резать.

Все напряглись, на какое-то время разговоры прекратились, и я снова задремал. А когда проснулся, уже стало светать, правда, никакого солнца не было, но небо просветлело, да и дождь прекратился. И как-то сразу стало спокойнее. Я встал, вылез из-под навеса эстакады, прикурил последнюю сигарету и пошел размять ноги. Минут через десять я встретил своего однокурсника Мишку, и тот сообщил мне, что неподалеку раздают еду и сигареты, ну мы и двинули в этом направлении.

Действительно, какие-то веселые девушки ловко нарезали бутерброды с колбасой, а со стоящего рядом грузовика молодой паренек горстями кидал курево всем желающим в подставленные руки. Я слопал два дармовых бутерброда и поймал пачку «Космоса». Тем временем начался митинг, который хоть было и не видно, но хорошо слышно, так как выступающие говорили в микрофон через мощные усилители.

А потом, когда группа «Мистер-Твистер» заиграла свои веселые песни в стиле ретро, я отправился в сторону метро. Вдруг стало понятно, что все закончилось.

Дежурные у турникетов метро «Баррикадная» кричали, чтобы те, кто в штормовках, проходили бесплатно. За неимением штормовки я показал проездной и меньше чем через час был дома, где моему появлению уж точно обрадовались.

А Леша Гусев, когда выписался из больницы, часто к нам забегал, тем более что влюбился в одну из наших медсестер Олю Николаеву. Было очень трогательно смотреть, как он мялся, прежде чем всучить ей очередную шоколадку.

August putsch. Защитники Белого дома в ожидании предполагаемого штурма Фото: Владимир Филонов/PhotoXPress.ru

Лешина мама часто звонила Владимиру Сергеевичу, чтобы тот образумил сына. Ее беспокоило, что Леша опять стал проводить время с той же компанией, с которой так славно встретил праздник 1 Мая. С ее слов, он начал поддавать, и когда ему подносили очередной стакан, говорил: «Да по хрену все, я и Афган прошел, и реанимацию!»

Последний раз я видел его поздней осенью восемьдесят шестого, через год после выписки. Леша здорово отъелся, у него опять появились широкие плечи и мощная шея. Он даже вставил себе белые красивые зубы взамен выломанных при первой интубации. И все время широко и радостно улыбался.

Было в его внешности что-то плакатное. «Как дела, братуха? — Снисходительно хлопал он меня по плечу. — Что грустный такой, небось голодный?»

Он умер меньше чем через месяц, просто пришел домой после какой-то очередной попойки, рухнул на кровать и во сне захлебнулся собственной рвотой.

И тогда внутри у нас что-то сломалось, даже у самых циников. С тех пор его имя почти никогда не произносили вслух.
Он не должен был так уйти, наш Леша Гусев.

По телевизору показывали Ельцина, Руцкого, еще каких-то политиков, я подошел к кухонной полке, нашарил склянку со спиртом, налил треть стакана, разбавил водой из-под крана и жахнул залпом. Я никогда так не делал раньше, тем более в одиночку.

А потом лег на диван и уснул. Никто еще не знал, что вчера был последний день советской власти.

Москва, 2008

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