The God Next Door

Prologue

What if God is one of us? An ordinary guy who, like everyone else, takes the bus, the subway, or the car every day. Or maybe he prefers a bicycle or a motorcycle? What if he looks no different from any other person? What if you've met him many times before, strolling around the city, just passing by? Or maybe he's your neighbor? You never even thought about it, right? Meeting him would raise a multitude of questions for anyone. What would you ask? Perhaps: What is the meaning of life? Is there Heaven and Hell? What awaits us after death?

What if he, too, has his own flaws, habits, and desires? Then what is he like? What does he look like? Where does he live? What name did he choose for himself? Or maybe God is a woman? What does he do? Perhaps he's a billionaire living on his own island. Or an ordinary manager, doing routine office work. Or maybe he's a doctor, saving lives every day?

When you consider the possibility that God might live among us, your brain will continually generate more and more questions, which inevitably require logical answers. To alleviate this barrage of questions accumulating in your head, I'll begin my story. But where to begin? Hmm ... I think I know...

I

A small, gray room with shabby furniture: a bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a desk, a chair, and a clothes rack. Bright yellow rays of sunlight filtered through the faded blinds and the long-unwashed window. At such moments, you could discern the tiniest dust particles floating in the air, as if swirling in a dance. The absolute silence was broken only by the ticking of the wall clock.

A tall, slightly thin man of about thirty stood in front of the window. His bright blue eyes, casually tousled dark hair, strong chin, and small beard gave him a charismatic air. He was dressed in a white shirt, black pants, and dark shoes. Walking over to the coat rack, he took off his lonely coat. Putting it on, he walked out of the apartment into the common hallway and locked the door behind him. In the hallway, a girl nearly knocked him over. A short, slender blonde of about twenty-four was pulling a child's bicycle out of the neighboring apartment. Not noticing the man, she accidentally bumped him with her back.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Please excuse me," the girl began to apologize, realizing she had offended someone.

“It’s okay, everything’s fine, you’re not to blame for anything,” the man answered calmly, making it clear that nothing terrible had happened.

“Come on, I’ll help you,” he smiled at the stranger with some kind of alluring calm.

“That would be great, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble for you,” the girl said with a little timidity in her voice, handing the bicycle to the man.

A boy followed the girl out of the apartment. The man placed the bicycle on the floor and leaned over the child.

“Hello,” he greeted, extending his hand to the baby.

“Hello,” the boy answered with a little uncertainty, shaking the man’s hand.

"I have something for you. Here, take this," the man added, taking a small airplane out of his pocket and handing it to the little boy.

Slightly confused, the boy looked at his mother, waiting for her approval. Smiling, the woman nodded approvingly at her son.

“Thank you,” the little boy replied, looking at the stranger again and then happily taking the toy airplane.

“Mom, I’ll be waiting for you at the entrance,” he added, looking at the gift.

When the child moved away a little so that their conversation could not be heard, the girl turned to the man:

"His father was a pilot. He died before Max was born. Never knowing he was going to have a son. And he wanted one so much. I'm sorry. I was very touched by your gift," the girl breathed, trying to wipe away a tear.

"You know, I think his father knows about his son and is keeping an eye on you both," the man replied with charming calm, looking the girl straight in the eyes. His gaze lifted her spirits. For some reason, she wanted to believe every word the stranger uttered.

“Thank you,” the girl said, realizing that this was exactly what she had wanted to hear for a long time.

A few minutes later, having brought the bicycle down from the third floor, they were standing at the entrance.

"Thank you so much. It's rare these days that someone wants to help," the girl said gratefully.

“Please, I was glad to help you,” the man replied with a smile on his face.

- Mooo ...

“My name is...” the blonde said with a sigh.

"Yes, yes, of course. I have to go too," the man replied, nodding toward the avenue.

It was a sunny spring day outside. The sun's rays refracted off the running streams, creating a multitude of sunbeams. Children were sailing boats, arguing over whose ship would reach the finish line first. Across the street, a construction crew was arguing and waving their arms over the plans for a future shopping center. Office workers, sitting on the terrace of a local café, were drinking their second cup of coffee of the morning. A red-haired girl, driving a red convertible, was trying to finish applying makeup to her left eye. Everyone was busy, like ants.

A man strolled leisurely through the morning city. He was deeply touched by the way an elderly couple strolled sweetly down the street, as if they'd only met yesterday. The woman held flowers—a delicate bouquet of snowdrops. Her companion, meanwhile, was fumbling with something in his inside jacket pocket. A few moments later, he pulled out two theater tickets and glanced at his wristwatch.

“Darling, the show starts in ten minutes,” the man said to his lady love.

"Do we need to hurry?!" she asked with a smile.

“Yes,” he answered.

The elderly couple picked up the pace.

“What a wonderful moment,” thought the man, turning onto another street.

On the next street, he spotted a charming café with a terrace immersed in greenery. All the tables were occupied: someone was reading a book and leisurely sipping coffee, another couple was animatedly discussing something, oblivious to the other patrons. Everyone was immersed in their own thoughts.

the hostess appeared out of nowhere , beating the man's question to the punch.

"Good afternoon. That would be wonderful," he replied amiably.

“Come with me,” the girl added politely.

Only one table for two was empty off to the side. A man took one of the empty seats and then began looking around curiously. At the next table sat two young men, animatedly discussing the new boss. Judging by their conversation, they were happy about the relatively minor changes. Behind them sat a young couple with two children. The kids had already gotten their cheeks dirty while devouring yet another scoop of ice cream.

"Hello. What can I get you?" the waitress asked as she approached the table, bringing the man back to reality.

“Hello. Coffee, please,” the man replied.

— Espresso , Americano , cappuccino, latte , flat "White , cortado , mochaccino ?" the waitress rattled off.

“To your taste,” the man replied.

— I recommend you try flat. "White with salted caramel. It's one of the best in town," the waitress replied, smiling at the man.

- Flat White . "Why not?" the man replied, looking at the girl.

A few minutes later, one of the best coffees in town, at least according to one young, dark-haired waitress, was sitting on his table. He thanked her for the coffee and took a leisurely sip. And then he was lost in his thoughts again. He observed the people around him. He was interested in their manners and behavior. What they liked, what they were interested in, what their plans were. How they interacted with each other. He was interested in everything.

“Excuse me,” came from the side.

“Sorry,” repeated a pleasant female voice, bringing the man back to reality.

A girl of about twenty-five stood before him. In a long black jacket with a short skirt. Long blond hair, bright red lipstick, smoky eyes. Ice . She looked very impressive.

"Yes, how can I help you?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Do you mind if I sit down? All the seats are taken. The only free seat left is at your table," the girl asked shyly, trying to justify herself.

“Of course, sit down,” the man answered in a calm tone, standing up and moving the empty chair a little away from the table, thereby helping the girl sit down at the table.

“Thank you,” the girl answered respectfully.

Having sat down at the table, she hung her handbag on the back of the chair.

"Hello. What would you like to order?" came the waitress's now familiar voice.

After quickly studying the menu, the girl settled on the Caesar salad and bruschetta with sun-dried tomatoes.

“Excuse me, another latte , please,” the girl added to the order, almost forgetting.

"Would you like coffee now or after the main order?" the waitress asked as she finished the order.

“Let’s do it now,” the girl answered.

"Thank you for your order. The coffee will be here in a few minutes," the waitress replied, writing everything down in her notebook.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asked, looking at the man.

“Thank you, but no,” he replied, taking another sip of coffee.

Having received the new order, the waitress went to the kitchen. A feeling of awkwardness arose at the table.

“Vera,” the girl introduced herself, extending her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Miron," the man replied, shaking the girl's hand.

“Nice to meet you,” the girl added, relaxing a little.

“Likewise,” the man replied with a slight smile on his face.

"Your coffee. The salad and bruschetta will be ready in a few minutes," the waitress's voice came from the side.

“Thank you,” the girl replied, looking at the waitress who approached the table.

"Miron, forgive me for asking, but have we crossed paths before?" Vera asked, looking at her new acquaintance.

"That's unlikely. I'm new in town," Myron replied, smiling at the girl.

"I would definitely remember you," Vera added, taking a sip of her hot latte .

"What do you do, if it's not a secret?" Miron asked, not taking his eyes off Vera.

“I work as a lawyer at a bank,” the girl answered with a smile, after which she took a sip from her cup.

"You're so young and already in such a position. You must be a very good lawyer," Miron stated.

The girl seemed to hesitate for a moment, but after taking a sip of coffee, she smiled at the man again. Just as she was about to add something, the waitress interrupted, bringing their order.

“Your salad and bruschetta with sun-dried tomatoes,” the waitress said, transferring the order from the tray to the table.

"Thank you. Can I get the bill?" Vera replied, pulling the salad closer to her.

“Of course, just a minute,” the waitress answered, looking at the girl.

"What do you do?" the girl asked, looking at the man and starting to devour her salad.

“ I... ” Miron began.

There was a slight pause in the air.

“I’m a doctor,” he answered after thinking for a moment, unable to come up with anything that would more accurately describe his occupation.

"Wait, don't tell me. I'll guess," Vera replied, her enthusiasm overwhelming her.

“You’re a pediatrician,” she said confidently after thinking for a moment.

"Why did you decide that?" Miron asked, surprised by the girl's answer.

"Looking at you, I feel both calm and absolute trust. And your eyes... Your eyes are kind. A person with such eyes... I'm sorry, I got carried away," the girl finished, embarrassed, coming to her senses.

“Thank you, but actually I’m a surgeon,” Myron answered with a smile.

“Your bill,” the now familiar voice of the waitress, who had just approached the table, was heard from the side.

Turning towards her, Vera saw a hand extended towards Miron with a bill.

"You misunderstood me, miss. We're not together," Vera replied, her voice filled with worry.

“Let me pay for everything,” she added, reaching for the bill.

“I insist,” Myron answered in his calm manner, making it clear that he wanted to pay.

Looking at Vera, he deftly intercepted the folder with the invoice enclosed.

"It's okay. I'll pay," he added, turning his gaze to the waitress, who was flustered by her mistake.

Taking cash from his coat pocket, he placed the required amount in a folder, adding a generous tip. The tip was much greater than the total of their orders. Specifically, it was the amount the waitress needed to cover her mother's medical bills, which had forced her to work seven days a week for a very long time.

“But there’s a lot here,” the girl answered in surprise, not believing her eyes, seeing the amount.

“There’s as much as you need,” Miron reassured her with a smile.

"Thank you so much, thank you. You have no idea what you've just done for me," the waitress chattered, smiling like a little girl. Her eyes lit up. Now she was sure everything would be fine, her mother would get better. Rushing to Myron, she kissed him on the cheek, repeating a few more words of gratitude.

“I think it’s time for you to run,” Myron said, indirectly reminding the waitress why she needed the money.

A few minutes later, having said goodbye to the girl, he was left alone with Vera.

“I am amazed by your kindness,” the girl said, without taking her eyes off her new acquaintance.

"This girl needs money for her mother; she's very ill and needs an urgent operation," Miron explained, not waiting for the question that had just popped into Vera's head. "Everything will be fine now," he added with a smile, finishing his coffee.

Vera was pleasantly surprised by her new acquaintance's actions. It made a very strong impression on her.

"Now I'll simply have to feed you. The next breakfast is on me," the girl blurted out, unable to think of anything better.

“We have a deal, Vera,” Miron answered, smiling at the girl.

"You won't even take my number?" the girl asked in surprise, not taking her eyes off the man.

"The number?" Myron asked in surprise.

"Oh, right, sorry. I just flew in from afar yesterday and haven't had time to get a cell phone yet," he added, without waiting for a reply.

“You must have flown in from very far away if you didn’t need a mobile phone,” Vera answered with surprise.

"Let's meet at this very place at this very time. Say, say, tomorrow?" Myron suggested, rising from the table.

"Excellent. Tomorrow at the same place. It was nice meeting you," Vera replied, standing up after Miron.

“Likewise,” he replied, extending his hand to the girl.

They shook hands, said goodbye, and then went their separate ways down the street. Vera even glanced back several times as Miron walked away. She liked her new acquaintance.

“I definitely need a mobile phone,” thought Myron, adjusting the collar of his coat.

He strolled the streets until evening, taking in the city's sights. He particularly liked one of the local theaters, which he decided to definitely visit in the near future.

II

A cozy studio apartment on the ninth floor, in the center of the capital. Modern, stylish renovation. A huge wardrobe with a ton of clothes from famous brands. What more could a young woman, just starting out in the big world, need?

The alarm clock's melody, dancing with the phone's vibration, echoed throughout the apartment. Six thirty in the morning. The girl's hand instinctively searches for the ill-fated phone, which is trying its best to wake her. But all her efforts are in vain. The girl wakes up. Turning off the alarm, she stands up, leisurely stretching.

“Vera, pull yourself together,” she said out loud, trying to open her eyes.

Getting out of bed, she goes to the kitchen, where she starts the coffee machine . Then she heads to the bathroom. After taking a morning shower and freshening up, she leisurely drinks her morning coffee.

"What day is it today? Thursday!" Vera blurted out, asking aloud and then answering herself. She remembered her appointment with Miron. She put down her cup and ran to the dressing room. She was looking for something special, but not too flashy. She wanted to knock her new acquaintance out cold with just her appearance.

"I have nothing to wear again!" she said with displeasure, throwing aside another dress.

"Maybe this one? No, definitely not this one," she said, putting another outfit aside.

"This is just what I needed!" the girl cried out with joy. Reaching into one of the closets, she pulled out a recently purchased black dress, just above the knees.

"I need a belt," she added, opening the other half of the closet. She pulled out a wide leather belt. Then she reached for a pair of black tights, grabbing a pair of black high-heeled shoes with them.

“Something is missing,” she thought, looking at the outfit lying nearby.

"Maybe a beige coat?" she asked herself.

Fifteen minutes later, the girl was strutting in front of the mirror, examining herself from every angle. She accessorized with large hoop earrings and added a little eyeliner and lip gloss. Now her look was complete. She looked like she'd just stepped off the cover of a glossy magazine. Taking a final sip of her now-cold coffee, she called a taxi.

Fifteen minutes later, a car was waiting for her at the entrance. Vera grabbed her purse from the nightstand by the door, locked the door, and headed for the elevator. After admiring herself in the elevator mirror one last time, she exited the building, where a black Mercedes was parked. The driver was standing by the car. As she approached, the man opened the door for her.

"Good morning. Please, have a seat," the man greeted the client.

"Good morning. Thank you," Vera replied, settling into the backseat of the car.

Ten minutes later, she was at the bank entrance. She quickly ran up the stairs into the bank lobby and stopped.

“Hello, Nikolai Naumovich,” the girl greeted the security guard at the entrance.

“Good morning, Verochka,” the elderly, gray-haired man answered her, without looking up from the newspaper he was reading attentively.

A few minutes later, Vera was at her desk, surrounded by two other girls, to whom she told about her new acquaintance, Miron, whom she had met yesterday at the café.

“I knew right away you had a date,” said the dark-haired girl with a bob.

"I wouldn't call it a date. We're just having breakfast together," Vera replied sheepishly.

"Do you often have breakfast with cute strangers?" the second friend asked, smiling, adjusting her long, blond hair.

"Lena, stop it. Can't you see? Our Vera's fallen in love," her friend replied sarcastically.

"Vika. How much more?" Vera asked, embarrassed, glancing at her friend.

"Yes, I'm interested in him. There's something about him... something mysterious," the girl tried to justify herself.

"What time did you agree to meet?" Vika asked with irrepressible curiosity.

“At eleven,” Vera answered coquettishly.

“Girls, stop chatting,” a stern voice was heard from the side.

Their boss entered the office. He was a portly man of about forty-five, slightly balding, handsome, and wearing an expensive suit. The girls scattered to their workstations, occasionally exchanging glances and whispering, trying to get their work done. Occasionally, they made jokes about Vera, who couldn't wait for ten o'clock. Today, time seemed to drag on more slowly for her than usual. As it does for everyone when you're really looking forward to something.

Miron's morning began even earlier. He was awakened by noise from the apartment above. Someone had decided that the neighbors wouldn't hear the guitar if they played it softly. But in the complete silence of the early morning, even that was enough—every note was audible. These were tipsy students who had arrived at their den in the early morning. I think every city dweller, except these musicians, knows about the audibility of apartment buildings. A few minutes after the solo performance, the students were given an explanation of the sound absorption of walls and the architectural features of the building. The lecture was given by a neighbor from the apartment across the street. And he delivered it so loudly that the whole building listened. And it's unlikely that after such a speech, saturated with the literary force of Russian obscenities, these guys will ever want to play the guitar at such a time again.

"The concert is over. Curtain," Miron said out loud, getting out of bed after listening to the rest of his unfamiliar neighbor's heated speech.

On the table lay the open packaging of a brand new phone. A little further on lay the phone itself. Picking it up, he checked the time—it was five thirty in the morning. Putting the phone back, he headed to the kitchen. Without turning on the light, he put the kettle on the gas stove. While waiting for it to boil, he thought about what and who he had encountered in the city. His thoughts were interrupted by the whistle of the boiling kettle. After making himself some coffee, he went out onto the balcony. The city was still asleep. Except for one couple returning home in the early morning and a couple of cars driving past on the avenue.

“Hello, neighbor,” a male voice suddenly came from the side.

Turning to the right, Miron saw a gray-haired old man. Through his gray beard, tobacco-stained teeth were visible, holding a cigarette.

“Hello,” Myron greeted in a calm voice.

"Uncle Kolya," the old man introduced himself, extending his hand over the railing of the neighboring balcony. The balconies were separated only by a wrought-iron railing. According to the architect who designed this house, each pair of balconies was connected, separated only by a small wrought-iron railing.

"Nice to meet you, Miron," the man replied, shaking the old man's hand.

"Will you smoke, Miron?" Uncle Kolya asked, holding out a cigarette.

"Take it. It's good tobacco. My son sends it to me from Colombia," he added, seeing his new neighbor's hesitation.

Looking into the old man's eyes, Miron realized it was crucial for him to have someone to share a cigarette with. Deciding not to offend his neighbor, he took the offered cigarette.

“Hold the fire,” the old man cheerfully suggested, also handing Miron a deftly lit match.

"Thank you," the man replied, then took a drag. A moment later, Myron began coughing loudly—it was the first cigarette he'd ever smoked.

"Why didn't you tell me you don't smoke?" the old man asked, laughing.

"Well, I don't know myself. I thought it might be important for you to smoke a cigarette with someone," Miron replied, looking at Uncle Kolya.

"To be honest, you're right. But your mere presence would be enough for me," Uncle Kolya replied, taking another drag.

"You should give up this. At your age, it's time to think about your health," Miron added, trying to stub out his cigarette.

“Give it here,” the old man said, smiling at Myron and handing the ashtray to his new acquaintance.

Miron stubbed out his cigarette on the ashtray, after which Uncle Kolya put it back in its place.

"So, Miron, tell me, how long have you been in town?" Uncle Kolya asked, taking a drag on his cigarette.

“Yesterday morning,” he replied, taking a sip of hot coffee.

"How did you know I just arrived?" Myron asked curiously.

"It's just my instincts, son. I have a good sense of people. You know, you look someone in the eyes and you immediately know they're a good person. They wouldn't hurt a fly. They'd save a drowning man, and then they'd walk off into the sunset without even introducing themselves. But sometimes it's the exact opposite: they'll pretend to be a good person to everyone, but in reality, they'll stab you in the back. You, for example, have a big heart. You don't smoke, but you didn't offend the old man, didn't refuse to have a smoke with me. Even though you've never seen me before. And your eyes, your eyes are kind, guileless," Uncle Kolya replied, taking another drag.

"Don't be upset with the old man if something's wrong. If I'd known you didn't smoke, I'd never have offered you that crap," he continued.

"My son used to send me a letter once a month. He'd write to the old man about everything going on in his life, and he'd even throw in some foreign tobacco. He knows how much I love good tobacco. But for several years now, I haven't heard a word from him. We had a big fight," the old man added, putting out his cigarette and sighing sadly.