Short story about scrap and ice

He clung to the year tightly, does not want to leave, does not want to let go. Continues to scare his news - one criminal case, another criminal case. People entered in the register of "Media - Ino -Agents." This is still the old law, not the one that is about the "individuals-foreigners", do not confuse. That, as they say, for the New Year. Under the Christmas tree.

By the way, I would like to convey greetings to all the optimists who, when the law was adopted, said a lot and thoroughly that he would not work. There was a great reason to tell this again - the first five people who, from the point of view of the state, are now as if not quite people. A kind, you know, self -propelled enemy publications. Talking leaflets of a potential enemy.

By the way, if a person can be added to the media register, why not be added to the list of states? “The state hostile to Russia Ivan Petrovich Sidorov” - it sounds. You need to mess with a person, starting, courts, red tape. The state can, without trifling, declare war. Tanks, planes, missiles of the Earth -Earth class ... bravura reports of television propagandists: “The hostile state Ivan Petrovich Sidorov was destroyed by our valiant troops during a three -minute victorious war! The homeland can sleep calmly! " The parades can be carried out three times a day, distribute the orders. The head boss will like it. He loves parades.

No, seriously, what to be shy. It seems that they have nothing to be shy.

In general, I understand, of course: time requires a completely different text. Everyone is tired. I would like to exhale. I would like to think about gifts, champagne and salads. And if you read, then something encouraging. In extreme cases, there are some “results of the year”, but also-certainly with an encouraging forecast. Standing the night, hold out the day, click under the chimes - and will perish the Morok.

Actually, I myself hope that the next year will be a little kinder to us, but I could not explain what my hopes are based on. Nothing portends. I do not want to squeeze out something sugary out of myself, I will not stray to depict optimism.

That's what. I’ll tell you, perhaps, a very real story. On the past Christmas, we decided to go to church ... It’s not that my family consisted of people too much praying, but Christmas is a special case. They sing very beautifully in the church. And people are done a little different. Not for long, but change. And why make excuses. Went.

To the church - through the park, beyond the river, and the church is very special. It itself is the mid -seventeenth century, one of the last tent, slender, tearing a low sky in Moscow. And there, the iconostasis of the work of Karp Zolotarev was almost entirely preserved inside. This is an amazing master, one of the last great Russian icon painters. He worked at the Ambassador Order during the time of Alexei Mikhailovich, already knew how they draw in Europe, but he remembered our tradition tightly. And he tried to combine this centuries -old tradition with the prickly manner of German engravers. And there are strange apostles in our church in front of Christ - incomprehensible and their own, strangers and relatives.

However, excuse me, got carried away. Not talking about icons. To reach, you need to go to the park. Go down the hill on a concrete ladder, there is a river and a narrow bridge over the river. Go along the bridge, go down again, and then along the shore already. In a straight line.

January and then was, if I remember correctly, warm. Lovely snow fell and melted. And then suddenly froze. And the road turned into a rink. The usual road was an unpleasant adventure: the shore on our side is steeply near the river, and when underfoot the ice, there is a chance not to go down to the bridge, but to fly right into the river - I don’t know that it flows in it instead of water, but it does not freeze in any frosts.

A. Yes. And to break your legs, this is by itself.

With such non-holiday thoughts we went towards the church, and when we reached the bridge, we found that someone cleaned the concrete ladder from ice. We crossed the bridge, and realized who. Some kind of middle-aged woman, an ordinary woman, cleaned the path with a crowbar, not paying any attention to rare passers-by.

It was a strange spectacle, to be honest. You have time to think differently by meeting a woman with a crowbar at midnight in a deserted park. But we just passed by, and she continued to fight with ice. And when they returned, it was no longer there, there was only a clean and safe road.

Nobody sent her there. It’s just that, it turns out, I thought that here, ice, and people will certainly go through the bridge to the church-Christmas, and even in the dark, and anything can happen. I took a scrap, and instead of celebrating or just going to bed, I hollowed the ice with crowbar.

For some reason, under the curtain of this unkind year, I often remember about her.

This is not a parable, there is no hidden meaning in it. And if you find it - well, sorry. I am not on purpose, I didn't want to.

Yes, by the way, then they burned a coat with a candle in a cramped coat. But this is completely a trifle, I accidentally remembered.