Morning Coffee. Storybook

The Legend of the Earth

The morning began as usual: for the third day in a row, large black ornate snowflakes, up to 1.5 cm in diameter, fell from the sky. They enveloped the cities in their black glow, sparkled, as if covering the roofs of houses, schools, hospitals with a mourning cap. And people, all in black, with dissatisfied faces, hurried to leave the open air, hating and condemning the snowfall.

– Ugh! – a breathless voice rang out in the hallway. – It's snowing again! – and Rida, deftly throwing off her outerwear, hastily began to wipe the black streaks of melted snow from her face.

– What I'd told you? You bought an orange hat in vain! You hardly would be able to wear it all the winter: there's a lot of precipitation this year! – Greg shouted her back from his room.

– Hi, Kant, – Rida entered the room. – What are you doing?

– Hi, – Kant responded. – Your brother has gone crazy!

– Yeah? And that happens to him… – Rida drawled thoughtfully.

– You don't understand anything!.. – Greg was indignantly ardent, rocking back and forth in his chair. – Imagine, Rida! If only the snow were transparent, how nice it would be! And you could wear your favorite orange hat!

– …but the gloves will still have to be washed… I went in green today, to match the color of my boots… What are you saying? Transparent? – Rida smiled broadly at her brother. – You're a dreamer…

– Greg, come down from heaven! There is no such thing as transparent snow…

– Why not?! After all, the rain is transparent!

– Well, freeze the rain and make snow out of it! And I'd better go to wash the gloves… – Rida left the room, completely upset by the stains on her gloves.

– Okay, Greg, I have to go home too. What do you say you want? To create a small planet with snow?

– Yeah!

– And there will be people on it?

– Of course there will be!

– But if snow turns from rain, and rain from snow, then it turns out that certain laws will exist there…

– In general, all the laws of physics will exist there! I'm telling you: I thought of everything.

– All the physical ones? Wow, no way! Well, good luck to you!

– You'll see. Bye!

– Look at the snow falling! – Greg exclaimed.

Kant hung over the small blue ball, fascinated and surprised, watching the snow falling there, just like theirs, only white.

– White snow! Fantastic… – he whispered. – And the planet! Just like a real one!

– I called it Earth.

– …but what about the people?! They can't create at all!

– Ah, the people… – Greg drawled indifferently. – They didn't work out. But look at their snow! – he was amazed and surprised by his own creation, staring at the white fluffy flakes.

– Greg, but you can't do that… – Kant objected. – Snow is, of course, good… but you'd rather remake people than admire the snow! Why are they so cruel?

– What are you so attached to these people for?! Have you ever seen such a miracle? Completely white, melts – and becomes transparent! You can't see it on your skin or clothes… It turned out even better than I had thought!

– Look… – Kant didn't let up. – Can you see? – He stretched out his hand and pointed at a small man standing on the roof. – The guy wants to jump off the roof. He doesn't care at all about your snow…

– Yeah… They turned out a bit silly. The people didn't work out! But what snow it turned out to be!!!..

A Memories Cemetery

With my head bowed, looking at my feet and my jacket collar turned up from the wind and rain, I walked quickly through an abandoned, unremarkable park to escape the cold, because today I decided to take a shortcut home.

At first I was running at breakneck speed, immersed in the state that is usual for all residents of the metropolis: I was thinking about tomorrow, about the unfulfilled obligations to the boss, about the fact that it was time to drop everything and go on vacation… Drops of rain trickled like a nasty chill, getting into my collar. Everything was as always: mobile, familiar, not new.

But soon I noticed the silence around me, unusual for a big city, broken only by the rustling of the rain, and the mysterious abandoned corner suddenly seemed more than just a park. I stopped. The smells, the sounds – everything here seemed familiar to me. It seemed to me that I had been here once before, but I was equally sure that I was seeing this park for the first time. And yet, something – a sensation, a feeling, or a hidden premonition – made me linger.

Having chosen the most stable of the rickety benches, I brushed the cold rainwater off it with my hand and sat down. I recognized it: it was the park where I had spent my entire childhood.

Black bare tree trunks stood and broken or simply fallen from old age benches lay upon the wet black ground under the grey autumn sky – the current park now reminded me more of a cemetery, the only thing missing was the crosses.

The gloom I saw did not fit in with the pictures of the past in my head. Where did all the colors go? Another reality kept popping up before my eyes more and more persistently: our youth, student years… Everyone who entered this park then, 20 years ago, was greeted by colorful groups of young friends, evenly scattered throughout the park, their cheerful laughter and voices. There was life here once. Then I thought that it would always be like this…

– Hey. Are you here, too?

I looked back. My old good friend stood behind me, whom I probably hadn't seen since then. He stood a step away from me, and I clearly saw how drops of rain were running down his face, which hadn't changed at all. His eyes had also grown dull over the years, just like this park. He smiled a slight, sad smile. And yet, I was very glad to see him.

– Hi, sit down? – I slapped my palm on a small puddle on the bench next to me and swept it aside with one movement. But he only grinned and shook his head:

– It's unlikely able to hold both of us!

I turned away from him and looked into the distance:

– Look what happened to our park…

He was silent. The rain was gradually ending, it became completely quiet, and I heard, as clearly and distinctly as a clap of thunder, his voice, which had not changed at all: "Do you remember how we!.." – and suddenly I remembered that my friend, the one who was standing next to me now, died 2 years ago. I turned around, cutting off his phrase. There was no one behind me.

I realized it was time for me to go home, got up and wandered out of the park, kicking the wet fallen leaves with my foot. I was sure that I had just spoken to him, and this made me want to see my old friend even more.

Shuffling my boots through the clear puddles on the asphalt, I saw in them an inverted reflection of the old park – like the inside out of my past life – against the backdrop of a ghostly gray sky. The wind blew at my back, and crows flew in from somewhere and began to caw anxiously and threateningly.

I walked along the alley alone, and in my head I could still hear the familiar, pleasant voice of perhaps my only true friend: "Do you remember how we…".

The Doll

The cold autumn wind howled anxiously outside the windows, lifting the colorful foliage, that was not yet pressed to the ground by human boots, high above the asphalt and throwing dust and fine sand onto the glass. Matthew was reading a book. It was rare lately that he could just sit and read a book like this, without rushing anywhere and without worrying about the fact that there were more important things to do. With the almost familiar academic schedule, this seemed simply impossible: studying and the gym took up too much time…

This autumn was cool. The wind did not subside, bringing street noise and bustle into the open window along with the cool freshness of the rain. It seemed that reading under its threatening howls was even more interesting, the natural sounds very accurately matched the mood of the book, merging with it, mixing with the feelings of the characters, enlivening and giving colorful realism to the images faintly outlined on the pages. Turning over another white sheet, Matthew looked away, letting his eyes rest. It was already dark in the room: the sky was covered with heavy rain clouds, and peering into the small book print was becoming increasingly difficult. But he did not want to turn on the light, it seemed to him that the room was much more comfortable without artificial lighting, precisely when the rain was about to start, and the slamming frames of the open window did not calm down… the light here was simply unnecessary.

A thunderstorm broke out, and the first large drops broke against the window glass in modest solitude. Matthew closed his eyes. He liked the way the wind was blowing through the house and the rain was getting stronger, already flowing in streams from the roof of the house to the ground. The window frames were now flapping much more quietly and seemed to be drawing their own, more harmonious and orderly, sounds in all this polyphony of autumn sounds. He sat, immersed in his own thoughts and indulged in sweet relaxation to the sounds of water flowing outside the window, trying to merge with the darkness and dissolve in solitude.

A knock on the door made Matthew open his eyes and listen. He was sitting in the living room by the window, outside which a thunderstorm was rumbling and the torrents of rain were rustling, so the knocking was almost inaudible.

– Who's there? Matthew asked, approaching the door and throwing on an old plaid shirt.

– Open up, you've got a package! – the man behind the door was clearly straining himself, trying to shout over the rain.

He quickly buttoned his shirt with three buttons and opened the door. The first thing that immediately caught his attention was the huge box standing at the threshold of his house, and only then the small man next to him, in a postman's uniform, all soaked by the rain.

– Take it and sign for it, please. – the old man handed over a folder and a pen.

– What is this? – Matthew was amazed, taking the folder and looking at the box. – And from whom?..

– I don't know anything, – the postman answered, – they told me to deliver it, I have delivered it. Sign for it and take it, it's raining… it says here: do not get wet.

Matthew signed in the indicated place, still not understanding: who could have sent such a huge parcel?

The postman helped him drag the rather heavy box into the house and left. Matthew watched him go, watching the truck drive away. It seemed to him that something was wrong. Could this have been a mistake? And he hadn't even really looked at the recipient's address, the old man could well have mixed something up…

Sasha walked silently, not paying attention to the road, not turning around and not looking at the people he met. He still couldn't forget her, something inside him was tightly squeezed, and her soft and very beautiful voice still sounded in his head. Her gentle words tore at his heart… an unbearably beautiful voice… unbearably. He lowered his head, now he looked only at his feet. He tried not to think. But then, instead of asphalt, some image flashed… a shadow still hid the face.

She slowly turned her head, her hair slid back from her shoulder and her face was exposed to the light; her green eyes stopped on him, she smiled. Then the asphalt flashed again. Sasha quickened his pace. He needed something to flash before his eyes all the time. Or should he run?..

Bright yellow autumn leaves, small debris, flying gray asphalt floated underfoot… but what are all these leaves, asphalt, debris? Like a mosaic, they first gathered into scraps, then into particles of a fluttering light dress, and then…

The dancer's hands gracefully traced their honed, correct movements in the air, then the entire silhouette made a dance «pa». She spun, spun for a long time, and her hair barely kept up with her, her eyes glowed, and her lips whispered something all the time… something so light, insignificant for the observer.

..one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three…

Liza loved to dance.

After walking a few more meters, Sasha saw that very building. He stopped to look around. He immediately felt that something was wrong here: the color of the building itself seemed gloomy to Sasha. "The color of the autumn sky" flashed gloomily through his head. He stood there for a few minutes, thinking. The building seemed a little strange, abandoned, lonely… And many small steps led far up to its entrance.

This could not go on any longer. Almost a month had passed since his parents had taken him to England, thus separating him from his beloved. He lit a cigarette. The wind blew through Sasha's light brown hair, throwing it over his forehead and then over the back of his head. He inhaled the fresh, cool evening air and, looking at the crumpled pack of cigarettes, remembered how he had hugged Liza with one hand at the airport and put the other in his coat pocket. At first they stood in silence, she laid her head on his shoulder and he felt the sweet scent of her hair. His father's voice rudely interrupted their separation, and although nothing really rude was said, only that it was time to go, Sasha involuntarily crumpled a brand new pack of «Marlboro» in his pocket that his fingers had caught. Liza sighed quietly and raised her head toward the sound. She was calm and sad. And somehow especially beautiful…

Here in England Sasha had a good friend Fred from the first days. He told him about this building, about the strange doctor, about what Sasha still did not believe.

– I can't see you suffering because of her… I didn't want to talk about that, but apparently I have no choice… it will be better for you. However, you will decide for yourself. – Fred was speaking.

– What are you talking about? Don't worry about that, these are all my problems… you won't be able to help me.

– I don't. But I know a doctor who can fix everything.

– How will he fix it? If only he could fix feelings… or change fate… Maybe he could make it so that the words "father's contract" would simply disappear from my life?..

– He can do anything. – An evasive answer was thrown. – Anyway, listen. – Fred named the address from memory and explained how to get there. Then he fell silent and looked at his friend very seriously and sadly. A strong wind blew, the fur on his blue jacket fluttered anxiously. He looked away. – Okay, Alex, let's not say goodbye, maybe we'll see each other again someday. – With these words, Fred patted him on the shoulder, nodded in a friendly way and left.

There were very few people around, but Sasha still stepped onto the first step, then the second… The third, fourth… the steps were left behind one after another, he opened the door and went inside.

Inside, on the contrary, there were a lot of people. They were all bustling about, making noise, animatedly finding out something. He went up to the reception window.

– Hello…

– Are you here by appointment? – he was immediately interrupted by the ringing voice of the nurse, who was quickly sorting through some papers laid out on the table in front of her.

– No, I just wanted to find out…

– Office 206, straight up the stairs and to the left. – The nurse responded again unexpectedly quickly, without looking up from her work. And then it was as if she forgot about Sasha, no longer paying any attention to him.

– Come in, – he heard when he raised his fist to knock on the door of office 206.

Sasha silently entered. Behind the door was a tall, thin man in a white coat.

– I knew you would come. I've been waiting for you here, you're a bit late… – the man said, looking at his watch. – Come on, sit down, don't be shy. Let's get to the main thing right away. I know what brought you to me. Every day, hundreds of young people like you come to me. And they all have very similar situations. You've already come to me, which means you want me to help you. If you want, you can tell me your story, but there's no great need for that. I'll start with the main thing: what would you like instead of your torment?

– Me? – Sasha was surprised. He didn't quite understand why he came here and what exactly he wanted to get from this person. – Are you a psychologist?

– In a sense… but not quite. People who come to me are completely desperate. Those for whom it's too late to see a psychologist; people who want to change something, something that is incredibly difficult to change, but too necessary. These people don't believe in miracles, but my work can only be called a miracle. Tell me, what do you want? And I will make it so that your life changes forever.

– I don't really understand you…

– Think about it, don't rush.

Sasha leaned back in his chair and thoughts immediately rushed through his tired head, a slight grin appeared on his face.

"… I want to live in Manhattan in a rich American family, be completely independent and not remember anything about my real past, about breaking up with Liza. Liza… you are breaking my heart…"

He sighed weakly and closed his eyes, thinking about her again. And then he said:

– Just to have another life, more carefree, maybe. But it will never be like that anyway. And it was probably in vain that I came here…

Sasha wanted to get up, but the words of the «doctor» stopped him.

– Throwing away wishes is dangerous, so don't joke about it, they sometimes come true. And would you really want that?

Sasha looked at the man in the white coat with distrust.

– Who wouldn't want that? But why are you asking all this…

– Matt! Matthew!

I looked back. Steve, my friend, was catching up with me from behind.

– Hi, nice to see you!

We shook hands.

– Nice to meet you, didn't expect to see you here!.. – Steve was surprised. – It's good that I met you… – he immediately got down to business. – A friend suggested a doctor. She drew some kind of map, and I have no idea which way to go now! Maybe you know where it is? Take a look…

I looked at the map. The street names were written in large, untidy handwriting, but I could make out some of them.

– I see… – I said slowly.

– So you know where this place is? – Steve was eager to get the information out of me. He was always a little impatient.

– Yes, I was there. About three years ago, I was about 17 then… I don't remember exactly who recommended this doctor to me, and what he treated me for. I think it was something like headaches.

– Cured?

I shrugged.

– Nothing hurts now. But those were strange times… A chill ran through me, suddenly a deafening noise flashed through my head, people's impatient exclamations, questions, answers, words… and somewhere among them, a clear, ringing echo sounded: "Are you here by appointment?.. Office 206, straight up the stairs and to the left." I shook my head, as if trying to throw out the sounds that had washed over me. And although very vague and incomplete pictures of this hospital emerged in my memory, I could not say that anything bad in my life was connected with it. But the memories of this were restless.

I suddenly remembered the old grey building, which I hadn't thought about for three years, and the narrow, numerous steps leading up to its porch. It was already late evening when I walked down them, and my head was silent, even empty – not a single thought. I didn't even think about where I was going, my legs themselves led me home, and the slight dizziness and fatigue completely broke me when I reached my bed.

The next morning I tried to recall our conversation with the doctor, but I remembered only fragments and that he made me remember the story about the strange evening parcel that the postman brought to our house by mistake. At breakfast I thought only about it, and it seemed to me that the doctor had reminded me of the old story in vain…

…When I opened the box, I was extremely amazed. I expected to see anything, even the refrigerator. But there was a doll inside. More precisely… the «doll» is a completely unfortunate word here. A doll is more something you can play with for an hour or two, and then put away on a shelf or in a drawer until next time. And in front of me was a tall, slender, beautiful girl, whom I still would not have the heart to call a «doll». Her head was at the level of my shoulder, and she looked just like a real, actual girl. A dancer – I immediately realized, looking at her. She stood with her head slightly bowed and elegantly clasping her hands, as if in a graceful dance. Her appearance simply amazed me… Skin, hair, eyes, a slight smile… she was extraordinary. And I could not distinguish her from a real girl even at close range.

She had a very kind, open expression on her face, wide-open, green, shining eyes, a beautiful smile and a soft, humanly warm look; and her dark-brown hair, just below the shoulders, melted in my hands, slipping in thick strands between my fingers like silk and flowing easily in the wind if the window in the living room was suddenly opened.

Yes, I remember it as if it were yesterday, in our house she stood by the window in the living room, and white tulle often covered her light silhouette when my mother aired the room.

I remember how often I came to her and how often I stopped at that window when I walked to the kitchen through the living room. I could look at her for hours. Everything the doll was made of seemed real, and the most amazing creation of the Master, who most likely made this masterpiece to order, was the soft, even a little «velvet», slightly idealized light skin, which felt no different from real skin.

I looked at her and could not believe that she was not alive. I did not want to believe it. I saw no reason why I should believe it. It seemed that she was a real girl, who had been dancing just 2 seconds ago, and then deliberately froze in a certain movement, smiling. I looked at her, holding my breath in silence. But time passed, and the girl still stood there, frozen. And then came the bitter realization that I had believed in my own myth. This doll was not pretending, she really was not alive, she would never move from her place, she would never tell me anything… Although sometimes her voice still sounded in my head, as if once, maybe not in this life, she had spoken. Moreover, she had spoken to me… In my heart I still believed that she was alive, and she just for some reason could not tell me about it.

I was never able to find out where my «living» doll disappeared to. She disappeared from my life as suddenly and unexpectedly as she had appeared, only this time I was not a witness to it.

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