
After the start of the war, the poet and publicist Ivan Davydov remained in Russia and continued to write honest texts about what is happening inside the country. A year later, at the request of the Cold, he tells what it is.
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February 24, 2022. I remember this day almost permanently. I was woke up by the incredible news: "He still started." The impossible happened, what the Western newspapers had been warned about, the publications of which were equally mocked a few days ago and the official representative of the Russian Foreign Ministry, Maria Zakharova, and people who are much less proceeded. I, for example.
The impossible happened (remaining impossible at the same time), the reality broke, everything was canceled. The phone was torn: friends, acquaintances, half -digit, forgotten called, and no one could really say anything. To describe what is happening, in order to at least somehow treat him, the words were best suited. Short and capacious.
The impossible happened, but the sky did not collapse on earth, everything became meaningless, but life has not gone anywhere. And I went to the office of the Western film company to watch a new cartoon in a small cinema (yes, there was a special cinema inside, tiny, but real: with rows of seats, with a screen, with a voluminous sound). The cartoon was supposed to go into Russian rental in a couple of weeks, and from me friends in the same fashion newspaper were waiting for a review.
I don’t know if in the description the absurdity of the absurd, which suddenly became a natural addition to any business with lightning speed.
I left the metro, looked around: the houses did not crumble into dust and the sky did not turn into the scroll. Everything is as usual and not like in the Apocalypse. A black van with a white inscription "Invasion" drove past. Inside, through the Moscow winter, people were moving somewhere, probably related to the summer rock festival. And all this was incredible. And there is still a wall in the background, and on the wall was angry: the Unarmeans carry flowers to the deceased actor Lanovo. The deceased actor smiles in a theatically.
I even took a picture of the van, realizing that they would not believe my word.
And then he walked along Solzhenitsyn Street, repeating to himself: "He was going to die, and this rye."
Year. Important year. I somehow lived, of course, I followed the events, was horrified, accompanied the running friends, quarreled with them and put up, but at the same time I thought: “And what is happening to me now?”
Sorry to talk so much about myself. In this case, this is not selfishness. It is easy to come up with or choose some kind of “we”, to integrate ourselves into this “we”, to begin on behalf of this “we” to reason. We left. We are the remaining. We cursing. We are delighted. But this is the specifics of the era: in a clash with a great history, a person is actually alone. Always. This does not mean that his experience is unique, rather, on the contrary. But to talk honestly - not about ordinary matters, not about the news, not about everyday - but about the great story, then you can talk only in the first person.
In fact, this is a nuisance. Any “we” is a screen, you can hide for a screen. It would be possible if not for ...
So, I found the answer to my question. Nothing happens to me. Because I am still there - on February 24, 2022. This day is like grain: all my time was pressed into it, all my time in it ended. February 25 did not come.
Once upon a time, when the word “we” had not yet seemed dishonest to hide from reality, I wrote a small text in the magazine “Snob”. I can’t give a link-I recently found out by chance that all my texts from the magazine Snob disappeared somewhere. Do not grumble - in a sense, this is also a way to recognize the merits of the writer.
Then the opposition had the fight against corruption, the various revelations of the bribes in the power and other houses for a duck. All this is important, I wrote, but why do we not notice that in addition to budget money, we steal something more important? We are blamed for disputes, from which the normal world has gone long and far. Well, there - how many times a year can you beat your wife and how much? Should the courts when making decisions rely on the decisions of the Trull Cathedral? Why to deprive orphans of a chance of human life is good and correct if this is done in the name of patriotism? And so on. We get involved in disputes, we also lose these disputes, and we steal time. Having lost time to discuss the essence of the extended egg, we do not have time to think about something truly important. And we will never have time.
Because in a stolen palace, confiscating it at the thief, you can open a sanatorium useful to everyone. Money from the Kaznocrand's frozen accounts can be put on some necessary business. But you can’t return the stolen time, there will be no time.
“There will be no time” - this is just the “Apocalypse”. The revelation of John the Theologian, Chapter 10, verse 6. Now it’s ridiculous to recall the then reasoning. Funny, because everything happened - there is no time. I have lived a year (and this is a lot for an ordinary mortal person), not daring to think about the future. After being forgotten to represent him, losing the ability to see him. And the right, probably, too.
I have a whole small project dedicated to the future. For this year, I talked about a possible and non -mere future with several dozens of smart people. He listened to their discussions about inevitable lustration, real federalization, and even possible legalization. Well, something that is prohibited today. I am interested in listening to them, but I can’t get away from the idea that there is no future.
Here, by the way, the lost "we" could arise. This applies to everyone who has grown in Russia, who have grown to Russia. The enthusiastic fans of “Svo” and her fierce opponents, frightened, indignant, left, who remained, speaking, silent. Even the long -awaited message of the President to the Federal Assembly can be read just like that. What did he really say? We will deal with various interesting things. We will create a fund to support the heroes, build new roads, pay attention to small rivers (he manages to think about everything, literally about everything!), But there is a nuance - we now always have February 24th. All this life is inside the 24th.
This is more important than any of his discussions about the centuries of the Western’s malignancy and the unprecedented unity of the nation.
What did I lose in a life that is ashamed to complain about? My city is not in ruins, and the battles do not boil on the streets on which I go to the office, to the museum or to the bar. I have lost the most important of human dimensions - time. I go straight to the concrete wall, in which neither the door nor the gap.
And “we” does not want to return, although this loss is for everyone. A person without time is made lonely.
I do not have an optimistic finale in the reserve. There is only a reference to the experience of the Stoics. What is now to do this person in his timeless? Do what you can and try to find your own. I was going to die, and this rye.
Not sure that it sounds convincing, but I have not come up with another recipe. Even for yourself. So now I am doing what I can: I put words in the places they put, realizing that I can hardly inspire or console anyone.
But how else to remain a person? It will not work out if time decides to return, if it suddenly comes on February 25, and here we all became nonhumans.
By the way, this is the appropriate "we."
And if he decides not to return? In this case, a special version of the famous parable about two frogs. Frogs fell into a jug with milk. And one, as you know, immediately went to the bottom. And the second floundered, floundered, floundered ... And then she also went to the bottom, of course, but she was so tired that she simply had no strength left for fear.
Post -Scriptum: The cartoon, which I watched then, did not go out, and the film company from Russia left. And the review - the review just came out. Issue, like everyone else now.
The author’s opinion may not coincide with the opinion of the editorial office.