Stories from Lyubavino. Chronicle of an extraordinary Incident
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“Do tell me, my dear husband, don’t your golden little hands sometimes get in your own way?!”
He, in turn, let out a loud chuckle and was not to be outdone:
“Well, at least my hands, my joy, aren’t attached right where your slender legs begin when it comes to ironing trousers!”
In response, she wrinkled her neat little nose and uttered her signature:
“Pfft…”
And on that note, each chuckling contentedly at their own little jab, they went their separate ways…
I must inform you, ladies and gentlemen, that Nikolai Vladimirovich was distinguished in life by a unique – one might even say, extraordinary – “dexterity.” If the matter at hand was apartment repairs, he would invariably hit his fingers with the hammer. If he was tightening something, he would do so until the threads stripped.
Once, Anna Vasilievna asked him to pack down some cabbage for fermenting into glass jars. Nikolai Vladimirovich, armed with a wooden pounder, set to the task with inspiration. But, as was often the case with him, he set about pounding the unfortunate cabbage with such zeal that the jar simply shattered into smithereens.
Whereupon Anna Vasilievna, barely containing her laughter, remarked:
“Brawn you’ve got, but brains you need not! A regular Popovich!” – thus comparing him to the hero of a famous cartoon.
From that day forth, this nickname stuck to Nikolai Vladimirovich for good.
But his “gracefulness” was not confined to domestic life. Since childhood, he had been plagued by spectacular tumbles, occurring in the most inappropriate places and always with a special comedic flair.
Take, for instance, that incident at the cinema. Tripping on a perfectly flat surface, he went flying into the aisle. His mortal frame, like a ping-pong ball, ricocheted from one row to another until the poor wretch, utterly vanquished by gravity, landed face-down on the floor. His friends and the other spectators who witnessed this ballet of chaos collapsed right beside him – though from hysterical laughter.
But that, as they say, was just the warm-up.
When our hero rose to his feet with the look of a man who had just encountered a train and cast a triumphant gaze over the people writhing with laughter, he even felt somewhat offended. Not only were they guffawing like a herd of horses, but they were also pointing fingers!
With a bewildered and slightly offended air, he left the auditorium and found himself in the lobby, where he attracted new puzzled stares. It turned out that as a result of his epic fall, the top part of his hat had torn off and was now dangling picturesquely to one side. Much like a loose manhole cover, it wobbled in time with his steps.
To this day, his friends still bring up that incident whenever they meet.
And as for the spectacular manner in which he managed to tumble down numerous staircases – that was his favorite pastime! It seemed that for him, gravity existed only as a pesky misunderstanding.
Instead of a mundane descent on his own two feet, he “preferred” a dizzying slalom on his fifth point, striking the most impressive poses along the way. And if he got a chance to ride a zip-line – well, you’d better watch out!
To fall off it with unimaginable somersaults and an expression of cosmic sorrow on his face – that was a matter of personal honor for him. His relationship with vehicles of any kind was, to put it mildly, downright karmic.
All in all, life was never dull for him. And for those close to him – it was especially eventful
His wife, Anna Vasilyevna, was a perfect match for him – a jokester of the highest order and a born humorist. Allow us to recount one significant incident from the very beginning of their life together, so that you may fully appreciate the caliber of this woman who stood by his side all these years…
And so, it happened during their wedding…
Whether from nerves and anxiety, or simply because that was her inherent nature, something unimaginable occurred at the registry office, right in the middle of the marriage ceremony. At the most solemn moment, when she was supposed to slip the ring onto the finger of her blissful groom, Anna Vasilyevna could bear it no longer. She was utterly undone by the impossibly serious expression on her fiancé’s face – and she burst into loud, pealing laughter. She laughed so uproariously that her mirth proved infectious, spreading to everyone present.
First, the groom himself began to chuckle restrainedly. Then, like an epidemic, the laughter leaped to the guests. Soon, even the photographer and the videographer, who until then had been valiantly striving to capture the solemn moment, lost their composure – they, too, were shaking with uncontrollable laughter.
As for Anna Vasilyevna, she was powerless to stop. She was stamping her little heels, clutching her stomach, alternating between squealing and completely uncontrolled, snorting guffaws. It seemed she was about to collapse on the floor, which finished off everyone present – they were now laughing to the point of utter delirium.
Only the registrar, a woman with a face as if carved from granite, stood motionless, like a monument. She observed this madness with the expression of a person whose internal gears had seized up completely. Only occasionally would she snort with displeasure, casting murderous glances at the howling bride.
Anna Vasilyevna began to calm down little by little. The laughter subsided, the guests caught their breath – everyone thought that now, at last, the ceremony would continue. But then a new, mischievous idea suddenly popped into her head. Instead of placing the hapless ring on her husband’s finger, she, before the eyes of the astonished audience… demonstratively popped it into her own mouth!
Seeing her husband’s eyes widen sharply and his jaw drop with precipitous speed, her brain received such a powerful surge of emotion that she snorted with laughter with renewed vigor… But then something unforeseen happened, and it was her own eyes that became wide and oval…
The ring, which she had intended to hold under her tongue for a moment as a prank, accidentally slipped down her throat on an inhale and blocked her airway. She convulsively grabbed her throat, tried to cough, but to no avail. Anna Vasilyevna was inevitably beginning to choke. Panic was mounting in her eyes.
Fortunately for the newlyweds, one of the guests was well-versed in such matters and, swiftly positioning himself behind her, expertly performed the life-saving Heimlich maneuver. The bride gave a cough, and the ring flew out of her throat, landing squarely and neatly… right on the groom’s forehead! The poor fellow stood frozen, with a golden “adornment” on his brow and an expression of cosmic horror in his eyes.
And so began their tumultuous family life. And we must duly note, our kind reader, that Anna Vasilyevna would sometimes feel profoundly ashamed of the stunts she occasionally pulled. But, after suffering only briefly from pangs of conscience, she would admit to herself, deep down: she wanted to shut her eyes tight and… go and do something like that all over again…
And so now you, dear reader, have at least a small, but more or less clear, idea of his dear wife, Anna Vasilyevna.
As for Nikolai Vladimirovich, he decided not to bother the glazier any further today. He was counting on a new, beautiful tomorrow and sincerely hoped that he would definitely resolve this matter with the glass then. Or so he naively assumed…
But let us not get ahead of ourselves for now. We shall temporarily set aside the tale of the unfortunate Nikolai Vladimirovich and his wayward pane of glass – and move on to the next story. So that everything is in order. In the chronological sense, of course…
Chapter VII Vasily, the Prosecutor, and the Logs
A “screw it all” attitude washis second name, he thought,
But no – he was a “Killer” though!
In a local electrical goods store, nestled in the very heart of a cozy urban-type settlement with the alluring name of Lyubavino, at the beginning of June, as was the custom there year after year, some young lads were hired for temporary work to assist the more experienced staff. Among them was one particularly special young man named Vasily. And it is about him that our story today will be told…
To put it plainly, Vasily was a rather extraordinary individual. It seemed that Nature had decided to take a break while crafting his appearance, and was apparently in a deep faint altogether while working on the neural connections inside his cranium. But later, it appears, she magnanimously compensated for her oversights by endowing Vasily with a generous portion of sheer nonchalance. Lanky, of not very robust health, and devoid of any interests common to almost all young men his age, he was somewhat of an enigma to those around him.
Since childhood, he had disliked his own name and had protested for a long time, demanding that his parents immediately replace it with something more attractive, in his opinion – like Arnold, Harry, Legolas, or something along those lines.
To which he was told, in a polite manner, to stop engaging in such nonsense. After all, he already bore a wonderful name, and one with deep meaning at that – named after his marvelous grandfather! And that in itself was a great honor. So he ought to be fully proud of it! And that was that; the name issue was conclusively closed.
Among his few acquaintances, he had only one true and tested friend – Vitya. The two had been thick as thieves since kindergarten. Since childhood, Vitya had been seriously passionate about weightlifting. He was solidly built, muscular, broad-shouldered, short, and stocky.
Outwardly, they were an impossibly absolute contrast to one another. Vasily was a brown-haired young man with dark eyes, tall, scrawny, and pale to the point of bluishness. Vitya, however, was a fair-haired lad with gray eyes, stout, with rosy cheeks, and radiating health. Vasily and Vitya – two completely opposite poles, yet by some mysterious laws of the universe, they had in time become the closest of friends, so inseparable that they couldn’t imagine life without each other. Can you, dear reader, imagine a more comical pair than these two?!
Their behavior was at times utterly unpredictable, and on occasion, as is often the case in youth, even verging on the reckless. But the most peculiar and eccentric of the two, as you have no doubt gathered, was the main hero of this story – Vasily.
His father had barely managed to persuade his old friend, Yevgeny Vladimirovich, the director of the electrical goods store, to take his son on. He had done everything possible to get the boy a job, at least for the summer.
As we have already mentioned, Vasily was a peculiar fellow – quirky, but interesting. His appearance, to be honest, slightly resembled that of a vampire – pale skin, sharp facial features. However, far more important was his ability to find a common language with people. At eighteen years old, he was perfectly capable of handling simple tasks, and that was enough.
Ah, youth! Reckless acts, eccentric self-expression through unusual clothing (and not only that), incredible dreams and desires, an indomitable belief in a beautiful future! And, of course, the tremulous anticipation of first true love…
Although, it seems we have digressed slightly…
So then, in recent days, a local artist, Serafim Nikiforovich, had passed on to the next world – a grandfather of very advanced years, a man of complex and heroic destiny, highly respected throughout the district.
The lavish funeral, scheduled for Friday, was not going to be canceled, despite a major power outage having occurred. The director of the electrical goods store, being a man who deeply respected Serafim Nikiforovich, decided to contribute his modest share to the expenses of the upcoming event.
The expenses were managed by a certain responsible official, who, on his own initiative, had organized a collection of funds in his office at the local administration. Vasily was entrusted with carefully delivering this very contribution – neatly placed in a sealed envelope – to the aforementioned official.
There was little use from Vasily at work anyway, and Yevgeny Vladimirovich himself couldn’t possibly get away today. He had decided to use the suddenly available day off to maximum benefit: to arrange a minor rearrangement in the store, combined with a long-overdue thorough cleaning. And he intended to personally supervise this important process, without stepping away for a moment.
“You know where our administration building is?” he inquired of Vasily, who was enthusiastically chewing gum while simultaneously listening to some clanging music through a single wireless earbud protruding from his ear.
“Nope…” Vasily shook his head in negation, continuing to chew.
“Then listen up and remember… And spit out that gum already when your superior is talking to you…”
“Just a sec…” Vasily nodded quickly, transforming his demeanor into one of pure attentiveness and obedience, and spat the gum into a trash bin.
“You’ll exit the store, turn right, then walk straight along the sidewalk to the intersection, cross the road, bear left, and in about two hundred meters you’ll come upon a two-story, light-colored building – well, that will be our administration. Go up to the second floor, right in front of you will be a door. You’ll enter, hand over the envelope, and say it’s for the funeral. Got all that?”
“Uh-huh…” Vasily nodded briskly, taking the envelope from Evgeny Vladimirovich’s hands.
With a carefree, springy gait, he set off to carry out his assignment, swaying his head to the beat of the clanging music in one ear.
And so, about twenty minutes later, an angry phone call came through on the landline in the director’s office. Evgeny Vladimirovich had once prudently kept the wired telephone – just in case. And would you believe it, it came in handy…
Just a few minutes after that call, Evgeny Vladimirovich burst out of his office, crimson and huffing like a boiling samovar, the pathetic remnants of his hair standing on end.
“Can you imagine! Do you know who just called me?!” – and without waiting for an answer from his stunned subordinates, who were lazily polishing the shelves, he suddenly wailed:
“The prosecutor herself!.. Yes, yes, the one from our district! Furious as a witch on a diet, and she asks me: ‘Why would you do this to me?! What did I ever do to you?!’”
He made a dramatic pause, his eyes wide open:
“I’m standing there, listening, not understanding a thing! And she says to me: ‘Why are you wishing me dead?! Why did you send me money for my own funeral?! What is the meaning of this outrage, Evgeny Vladimirovich?!’”
And suddenly, his face contorted with a horrifying realization:
“And that’s when it hit me! That blockhead Vasily managed to mix up the administration building with the prosecutor’s office! I ask you, where is our administration and where is the prosecutor’s office?!”
Evgeny Vladimirovich scanned his employees with a look that conveyed a silent question and utter indignation. Satisfied to see the required mixture of bewilderment and righteous anger on their faces, he continued with renewed vigor:
“When he gets back – I’ll kill him on the spot! Although, no…” he suddenly thought better of it, “first, let him explain what on earth he said to that prosecutor. And then I’ll kill him!”
He delivered this last phrase with particular inspiration:
“And then I’ll hand over the money for his funeral! Personally! Into the grateful hands of his overjoyed father! Who will probably kiss me for it!”
Evgeny Vladimirovich took a greedy gulp of water from a half-liter plastic bottle – indignation had left his throat parched. Then, with unquenchable fervor, he continued to depict for his team the nightmarish situation that had caused everyone to drop their work in a hurry.
“So there I was, explaining myself to the prosecutor like an idiot, telling her that the money wasn’t for her funeral, but for our Serafim Nikiforovich, that Vasily, that good-for-nothing, mixed up both the buildings, and the floors, and the offices. Now I have to go around explaining to her why the hell I sent her money for her funeral, and while she’s still alive! Should I send her flowers now, or what?”
The team let out a unified, disapproving murmur and waved their hands in horror.
“Oh, right, of course, now, in this context, she’d take that as a downright mockery!”
The team nodded in agreement, humming and mumbling their assent.
Frustrated, the boss took a powerful breath, retreated into his office, and threw over his shoulder:
“As soon as that cutthroat appears – send him straight to me!”
The entire staff nodded in servile unison and immediately abandoned all their ‘frantic’ activities. They were now eagerly awaiting the continuation of this unprecedented incident. Whispering and animatedly discussing the event, they all instantly forgot what they had actually come to work for today.
Vasily, however, evidently decided not to keep anyone in agonizing suspense. Still nodding his head in time with the insane music blasting in his ear, he walked into the hushed store.
The staff immediately perked up and, with a single impulse, stared at him with wide eyes, anticipating something thrilling. With an air of importance, he marched silently past them into the director’s office, on the way studying his colleagues’ frozen faces with mild bewilderment.
The door had barely slammed shut behind him when, with remarkable unity, they tiptoed over to the director’s office door. Pressing against it with whatever body part was most convenient and holding their breath, they began eavesdropping on what was happening inside.
“Vasily,” began Yevgeny Vladimirovich, barely containing his emotions, “which building did I ask you to find?”
“The Administration building…” the subordinate replied, perplexed.
“Then what the hell were you doing in the Prosecutor’s Office??!”
“???” Vasily stared at his boss with a look full of silent question.
“How did you even get in there? The place is swarming with security! Ah, to hell with it…” the director waved his hand dismissively. “Better tell me… my dear Vasily, what exactly did you say to our highly respected prosecutor?”
“Well… I – I—I…” Vasily hesitated.
“Well?!” the boss snapped.
“Well, I saw a two-story building, went up to the second floor, like you said, and walked into an office… There was a woman sitting in a chair, reading some papers. I walked up, put the envelope on her desk, and said: ‘This is for the funeral, from Yevgeny Vladimirovich.’ And that’s it… I left…”
Yevgeny Vladimirovich instantly pictured this vivid scene and shuddered in horror at the position he was now in! Vasily’s appearance, his behavior, and his slightly strange manner of speaking – in this context, it would have provoked one unambiguous reaction in anyone: a direct death threat! Nothing more, nothing less!
“Do you have any idea what kind of position you’ve put me in?! You blockhead!.. I’ll be having a word with your father today. Some way to help out a friend! Getting his precious son a job! Now he can help me mend fences with our dear prosecutor!”
He ran a hand nervously over his face before continuing with renewed vigor.
“Who, I might add, thanks to you, just called me and lodged a serious complaint! About how I’m apparently wishing her dead and sending her funeral money via some thug of questionable appearance! Now this is your father’s problem, too!”
Yevgeny Vladimirovich measured Vasily with a gaze full of utter bewilderment:
“Well, I’ll be damned… such an intelligent, responsible man, and he has a son… like you! You’ve landed on my head like a ton of bricks! Get out of my sight! I don’t want to see a trace of you here. And I’ll be paying a visit to your father today…”
Vasily listened to this thunderous tirade from his superior, and the understanding was slowly beginning to dawn on him that he had done something wrong – something very, very wrong, in fact. He slowly backed toward the door, wanting to slip away quickly, to vanish through the doorway, to dissolve into thin air, but then he unexpectedly stumbled upon the cluster of colleagues who had been impudently eavesdropping by the door.
“So, what’s the word, ‘Killer’?! ” one from the group addressed him.
“Ha, that’s right, ‘Killer’! ” others chimed in cheerfully and with a sort of wild glee.
As if on cue, Vasily tripped over someone’s feet and, flailing his arms helplessly, crashed to the floor in the middle of the aisle. In an instant, he scrambled up and, without brushing himself off, dashed out of the store, which had suddenly become unbearably cramped.
For the first time in his life, he felt an immense, crushing frustration for having failed at the most elementary of tasks – mixing up two completely different buildings. And now, he was most likely facing a shameful dismissal, even though he had barely even started working.
But the worst part was the impending explanations: the just reproaches of a disappointed father and the sad eyes of his mother. And that cursed nickname – “Killer” – now hanging over him like a storm cloud in a clear sky!
He had never had a nickname or a moniker; somehow, this particular circumstance had luckily passed him by in his childhood and youth. And it must be said that he was quite content with this state of affairs. His own name, which he considered uninteresting and unmelodious, was perfectly sufficient for him.
But then suddenly, in his nineteenth year of life – it happened! He understood perfectly well that this strange, sinister nickname would now be attached to him forever. Against its backdrop, even the name “Vasily” suddenly sounded noble, almost regal – exactly as his mother had always tried to explain to him. And he somehow suddenly saw everything in a new light. And to his greatest surprise, he made an unusual discovery: he was starting to like his name very much indeed.
Anything but “Killer”!
That evening, at home, after receiving the scolding he deserved from his father, and utterly dejected by the hopelessness of his affairs, he got ready to go to his faithful pal, Vitya. The electricity was still out, and he was languishing from boredom, so he decided to stay overnight at his friend’s place, which he duly informed his parents about.
His father and mother thought highly of Victor and believed, between themselves, that he was a good influence on Vasily. Moreover, the boys were bound by a strong friendship dating back to the days when they used to dig around together in the sandbox. Therefore, despite the dressing-down that had just taken place, they let their son go with light hearts and the firm conviction that at Vitya’s he would at least not get into any new mischief.
Dusk was falling. Vasily’s mood was rotten, absolutely rotten! In such a state, he didn’t want to arrive at his friend’s place and decided to distract himself a little.
But there was particularly nothing to do. No internet, couldn’t lose himself in video games, couldn’t watch TV – no power! A profound melancholy seized the hapless head of our fine young lad, Vasily; he sat down on a bench and sank into despondency.
And right there in front of him was a little beer store. He bought himself some strong beer – one and a half liters – and for the first time in his life decided to drown his sorrows in this manner. To ponder a little over recent events, to be alone with his thoughts, and only then to visit his faithful friend – to pour out his troubled soul to him, to talk about the injustices of life. His friend, after all, was an athlete and didn’t drink.
Vasily sat down on a bench in a shady spot where no one could see him, and until the sun had completely set, he drowned his grief and anguish in beer. It grew dark. His mood improved slightly, and the desire to pour out his soul to his faithful friend Vitya became even stronger than before.
So off he went, the poor wretch, through the dark alleys and streets. He walked and walked, thinking all sorts of unpleasant thoughts about his boss, about that nasty female prosecutor, about his unkind colleagues who had thought up such a vile nickname for him, about his own good-for-nothing self…
“So what if I gave the envelope to the wrong person. And I said what I said. What else was I supposed to say in a situation like that?”