By the Very Blue Sea

fragment

Two roads led from the boarding house to the beach: a short, trampled, with sharp turns, a dusty path, and a long one through the Bird Park. Sonya chose second. With its subtropical vegetation, the park strongly resembled Sochi: the same palm trees, rhododendrons, oleanders, bougainvilleas. Only here they were taller, thicker and also unusually coexisted with a strong lemon-smelling shrubs, the names of which Sonya did not know, and exotic cacti, as if transferred from Arizona. There were chickens walking along the paths and pigeons of different colors, turtles crawled. Rabbits shamelessly jumped out from under the feet of numerous passers-by, and well-fed cats lazily stared at the swirling sides of peacocks. The strange park was like a small compartment of Noah’s Ark, whose inhabitants coexisted peacefully and enjoyed life.

Descending to the sea along a looping, rose-plated alley, Sonya came across a bean-shaped pond with a thrown wooden bridge, through the railing of which children threw crumbs to ducks emerging from the muddy water. Near him, in the formed puddle, lay some many-legged, disgusting insect. It moved its black limbs, trying to get out of the water. But even this helplessness, instead of sympathy, caused squeamishness. The boy jumped out of the bridge, twisted, seeing the insect and, without hesitation, on the run, slapped it with a sock of sandal. Sonya was sickened by the sight of a twitching, half-crushed body and the thought that this ugly creature was created only to cause disgust. She looked at the sparkling, merging with the horizon, a strip of sea, and, throwing a bag with a towel over her shoulder, hurried to the beach.

Even amid the exuberant variety of hats and umbrellas, Mikhail Albertovich's bright orange cap looked defiant. Sonya spotted her from the waterfront. Navigating among the sunbeds and litters, she reached the artist sitting motionless on his own t-shirt, but not noticing his sandals, she tripped and fell. Mikhail Albertovich did not move and continued to sit in the same position, staring at one point. After following his eyes, Sonya saw Brichkin standing to the waist in the water. He was on the phone. When he saw Sonya, he tore him off his ear for a second and waved, greeting them both. Still, without taking a heavy look from Brichkin, Mikhail Albertovich, said: Here you are, Sonya, an intelligent person, explain how this can be. He behaves as if nothing has happened: he walks, eats, flirts with girls, enjoys the sun and the sea. He sold my picture, bought himself a movie camera, a new phone, and presented me as crazy. And I, as an adult, strong, self-respecting person, can do nothing, you know, nothing. My pride shrank like a spring under my heart, and if it straightens, I will have a heart attack. Mikhail Albertovich for a moment took his eyes off the serenely smiling Brichkin, so that the artist’s estimating gaze could guide two long-breasted girls. One of them, with dark hair loose on her back, like Sonya, tripped on her sandals, and her chest swayed at the level of the face of Mikhail Albertovich. Trying to hold on, the girl leaned on his lap. The hair, shattered by a chestnut wave, covered both.

"Lo siento. No he visto sus sandalias," she smiled.

Taking her by the shoulders, and slightly shifting from the trajectory of observation, Mikhail Albertovich said: Sonya, ask her to come to our boarding house in the evening to pose. You can have a girlfriend. ?

- They will come, Sonya translated, and you would put your shoes away. They put a spider's web. And stop incinerating Brichkin's eyes. First of all, he's not paying attention to you. And secondly, you'll ruin yourself.

The rest of your rest and then, in your damp, damp Peter, you can't forgive yourself.

- You, Sonya, are as unscrupulous as most of your godless generation. Can you understand how a creative person feels when their soul is stolen?

He took off his cap and waved to the girls who were leaving. Sonya barely restrained her smile: the tragedy and pathos of the artist’s experiences sounded a clear dissonance to beach frivolity.

- Here you are very mistaken, said Sonya, carefully spreading the towel. Not only did they steal my soul, as you say, but they also appropriated it.

- What are you saying, Mikhail Albertovich cheered up, and what is it?!

- Easy. Instead of my name under the poem, they put their own, then wrote really talented music and live with it. I think that man eventually even believed in his own authorship. You know, it happens quite often, especially among these most creative personalities – a person gave wishful thinking and then believed it. And so much so that even communicating with the one from whom he stole, he does not remember it. And you know, the funny thing is, it's been good for me. I stopped writing poetry in time.

- Koshmaaar! exclaimed Mikhail Albertovich. - You're arch-unprincipled!

Not only did they allow themselves to be humiliated, they did not demand satisfaction. How can justice reign in the world, if it is ruled by such telegyns – Brichkins!

- It was a hundred years ago. What am I still hungry for blood? And you yourself, what are you going to do to challenge Sasha to a duel? It was not necessary to lay a picture, would leave a watch or easel.

She took out a tan cream and began evenly applying a coconut-smelling mass on her tanned stomach. And suddenly in front, near the water, something blazed, there was a loud crackling, then screams - and everything calmed down.

- Sonya, have you seen it? After all, it was lightning, Mikhail Albertovich said in a settled voice.

- I saw it. Something. But there's no cloud in the sky. Where's the lightning? Here at this time of year and rain is rare.

Excuse me. I didn't notice your sandals.

_______________________________________________________

People ran to the water, and then in the opposite direction, already familiar girls rushed with cries: * Ayuda! Doctor! And Sonya and Mikhail Albertovich, who had previously stood in a stupor, joined the growing crowd. Through the palisade of half-naked bodies, nothing could be seen. The women in front talked quietly. ** Dios mio. Mira! Es terrible. Esta muerto?

- My God," whispered Mikhail Albertovich, looking over their shoulders, "it's Brichkin. In the sand.

Intermittently breathing, he squeezed forward, dragging Sonya behind him. Brichkin was lying by the water. His head was unnaturally twisted, and his neck, right arm and leg blackened from burns. Over him leaned sweaty Musya, trying to kiss artificial respiration to achieve the appearance of at least some signs of life. The doctor who came to the side, began to massage Brichkin’s narrow, covered with rare hair, chest, the right side of which turned gray, and the left remained defenseless pink, slightly burned by the sun.

A melted cell phone was lying nearby.

5

The hospital was quiet and stuffy. The air conditioners weren't working. Wandering cream with pink buds, a fan, Lidia Borisovna impatiently looked at the door of the ward, where for more than two hours were Brichkin and Mikhail Albertovich, who was taken to the same, the only hospital in the town, with a diagnosis of heart failure.

- What are you saying, Sonya? You were present at this horror. With her cool fingers she touched Sonin's hand. I didn’t believe in curses, but I had to. You said yourself that he didn't take his eyes off poor Brichkin. I mean, how can you wish for something like this, I'm sorry.

- A man was insulted. What are you suggesting, turn the other cheek? He didn't want Brychkin what happened to him. I just wanted justice.

- Retribution, to be exact.

- Retaliation if you like it better. But when what happened happened, the spring under the heart straightened. And now it is unclear which of the two will be the first to appear before the one who restored this justice in such a terrible way.                      

The purple glass doors opened abruptly, and the doctor, dressed all in yellow, approached Sonja. *" De jiste que el hombre que encontro elrelampago, es Russo...?" he asked, wiping sweat from his forehead with his cap.

- Sonia and Lydia Borisovna nodded in agreement.

"Bueno," the doctor laughed. Pero el habla espanol perfectamente, y sin acento. Aunque es espanol que no mucha gente hoy en dia.

Did you say the young man who was struck by lightning was Russian?

All right. But he speaks Spanish without an accent. However, it is Spanish, which has long been out of use.

_______________________________________________________

You're probably talking about someone else, Sonya objected. My friend did not speak Spanish at all. Neither modern nor old. Easy to talk, no word. Especially without an accent.

- Alejandro? Correcto? - The doctor frowned. - Pueden seguirme si lo desea.

They went into a cramped room, where at a distance of a meter from each other, under the antediluvian view of the monitors were Mikhail Albertovich and Brichkin. Seeing Sasha’s two-colored face and his black fingers sticking out of bandages, Lidia Borisovna cried out, but immediately clasped her mouth with both hands. The fan fell to the floor with a wrinkled butterfly. Sonya, who had already seen Brichkin immediately after the incident, did not experience a secondary shock. She was more alerted by a smile frozen on the sashin face, wrinkled gray cheek under the closed eye and burned eyebrow. His right eye was open and stared at the lemon wall.

- My God," cried Lidia Borisovna, "such faces I saw in the wax museum in the section dedicated to the Great French Revolution! Sonia, ask the doctor why he looks so bad and when will this creepy ash color come down? He doesn't look so good!

- The doctor said he was surprised that Sasha was still alive. Lightning struck the phone, which he was holding in his left hand, and, passing through his right, went into the water. Sasha became a guide and survived only due to the fact that the right hand was lowered into the water at the time of the impact. If you were to discharge through your left arm, your heart wouldn't stand it. As for burnt skin, plastic surgery will be required.

Without turning his head, Brichkin looked at the women standing at his head and spoke deafly: ** Quienes son ustedes,senoras? Como llegaron a este apesadumbrado lugar?

Sonya shuddered with surprise and looked at the doctor standing on the other side of the bed. “What’s going on?” asked Lidia Borisovna in a whisper.

I heard rustling and coughing behind me. Mikhail Albertovich tried to climb on the cushions. Sitting in the corner, an elderly nurse, indifferently watching what was happening, shook her head disapprovingly, and did not move. Tired of struggling with pillows, Mikhail Albertovich was quiet, but finding women standing on the side, stared at them strictly and, pointing his index finger at the ceiling, wheezed: “Heaven has opened.” And the fire struck. You saw it. He is. And I, the fool, doubted. ?

Alexander, right? You can come with me to make sure.

Who are you gentlemen? What brings you to this dark place?

_______________________________________________________

Hearing the voice on the right, Brichkin mowed his open eye and, seeing the profile of Mikhail Albertovich, whispered convulsively: * Ay Dios mio! Es el! El que era mi amigo, que hizo mi retrato y luego me triasiono. Que mas quere? Yo acorde a convertirme y aceptar a Jesucristo. Mi alma estaentumecida y para mi familia estoy muerto. Y para aquellos que fueros mas fuertes que yo.

Sonya remembered with gratitude Professor Mushkin, who forced his students to sit for days in the language classrooms. He argued that slow Spanish, as well as Italian, loses some of its charm, and therefore those who are unable to understand the real language do not deserve a positive score. Brichkin kept muttering. And although Sonya understood almost every word, the meaning of the monologue did not reach her.

- He is delusional, suggested Lydia Borisovna.

- Even so, said Sonya, why not rave in his native language?

Putting his hands on his chest and swaying from heel to toe, the doctor thoughtfully looked at Brichkin, whom Lydia Borisovna carefully waved a fan raised from the floor. Taking Sonya by the elbow, carefully choosing words, and leaving pauses for translation, he gave his own explanation for the strange metamorphosis that occurred with Brichkin. According to his version, temporary memory loss due to a lightning strike is a common phenomenon. Things have been worse. But here appeared knowledge of a foreign language and amnesia in his native, in his practice have not yet met. And in the world, such consequences of electric shock, he will not remember. As for the strange visions, he personally thinks that Brichkin sees himself as a heretic Jew, whom the seigneur from the next bed gave the Inquisition. Well, what do you want, señora, is our history, and it permeates everything material and immaterial, the air itself. So this hospital building, very old, built in the 14th century, served as a synagogue, then a church, and only some 200 years ago it was slightly rebuilt as a hospital. Is she a believer? This is important because not everything can be scientifically explained. In addition, from extra knowledge, although the brain increases, as from overeating - the stomach, but the soul dries up. Although the lady may disagree with me.

. The pale, aged face of Mikhail Albertovich has acquired a purple hue. He crumpled the already crumpled sheet in his fist, wearily closed his eyes and shouted from the last of his strength: “There is no limit to human insolence! He stole the painting and claims I'm a villain. He's the victim. Move me to another room. Let him practice in Spanish without me.

Oh, my God! It's him! The one who was my friend painted my portrait and then betrayed me. What else do you want? I agreed to change my faith and accepted Christ. My soul went numb and I died for my family. And for those who are more courageous than me.

_______________________________________________________

- Do you, Sonya, believe in reincarnation? asked Lydia Borisovna.

They walked along a wide street that circled the town from south to north. Despite the midday heat, the sun did not burn, thanks to the tall, planted in the full length of the road, plane trees. The sea then hid below the parapet, then blinded with blue with gold streaks cloth.

- You have to believe when you see everything with your own eyes. What do you think?

- And I absolutely agree with my grandmother, a very intelligent woman, who, mind you, had only a home education, and spoke five languages. She believed in reincarnation and taught me to live life to the fullest. Not to do evil, but not to be a saint. The wicked, like the righteous, do not return, nor are they given the next life. Only those who have combined good and bad, who have not attained perfection in this life, will have a chance to do so in the next, until they reach a state of mind that will allow them to return to where they came from. Of course, this is a simplified concept that arose from Kabbalah. And Kabbalah, you know, comes from here, from Spain. In general, I personally like to return to this world to gradually, slowly, improve with each rebirth. Think about living in different eras, countries, in different shells at last, while preserving your soul! Of course, it is a pity that with each new arrival we forget everything that happened to us before, but apparently this has its own meaning.

- According to your grandmother's theory, Brichkin was lucky.

- Of course, Lidia Borisovna picked up, he was given to return to one of his former incarnations for a while.

- Question: what time

- No, just imagine - Lydia Borisovna developed the idea. We are walking along the coast, and Brichkin – in the same geographical space, a kilometer from us, by the same sea – is somewhere in the fifteenth century. And some invisible, imperceptible, unnamed barrier does not allow it to enter our nowand us to any other level of the time well. I wonder if he'll keep his Spanish when he wakes up.

- The doctor said it was Ladino, the language of medieval Jews.

- Why the Jews, frowned on Lydia Borisovna, why should we necessarily slide into nationality?

- What to do, facts are a stubborn thing. Ladino is a dialect quite distinct from Spanish. In addition to phonetic differences, there are things in it that unmistakably indicate that it was used by Jews. For example, Catholic Spaniards refer to God as if in the plural, Dioswhere the final "s” For the Jews this would be unacceptable; for them G-d is one ElDio. Or the word Sunday, Domingo, which means God's Day. The Jews, of course, have a Sabbath, so they use the word Alhat, which has nothing to do with Domingo.

- Where did you get this? – splashed hands Lidia Borisovna.

- There was one boring professor, Sonya smiled.

Zoe Master.