A young doctor of science, executor of international and Russian grants, author of many patents and monographs, as well as poems and hooligan stories. Works until 3 am, raising a janitor at the institute, leaving work. He is sympathetic to the point of sentimentality: he will make a sad cashier in a store laugh, or he will note the chic image of an employee abandoned by her husband. Having noticed a sick dog in the institute's yard, he will give the watchman money for a veterinarian, medicine, food for the dog and the phone number of the veterinary clinic. There is a catastrophic lack of time for novels, although I want love, like everyone else. And suddenly I met the dream of a poet at a nearby scientific institute: smart, graceful, chic style, easy-going disposition and just as passionate about science as he is. I began to run away from work early in order to accompany her from one building of the institute to another, and chat along the way about this and that, discuss my discoveries and achievements, share interesting experiences from good cinema and music, laugh at interesting facts in the field of science. The young scientist lost his head; it seemed to him that he had met his Marie Curie*. He wrote me enthusiastic letters about his passion, he suffered that he could not see her more often and touch her elbow longer. He composed poems about the new Juliet, praising intelligence, beauty, gaiety and wit. It seemed that our brilliant scientist had disappeared forever from this witch. When the dog began to slightly recover from the distemper, the treatment of which he had been so concerned and worried about, he ran to tell her about his first hopes and successes. He looked into her eyes with glee, wanting to see happiness and sympathy for the poor dog. But she, having listened in surprise to his puppyish delight, summed it up: “Why all the fuss?” He would have just taken a shovel and nailed it down. He thought he had misheard. “What did you say?” “He would have taken a shovel and just nailed it down so he wouldn’t have to suffer.” Why make such a fuss? He stared at her as if he had learned that the Earth was a satellite of Saturn and was moving in a burial orbit**. He turned into a pillar of salt like Lot's wife, who disobeyed the angels. And there was no way for him to return to this city and he lost his beloved and friends... The sweet creature called him many more times and asked “what happened.” She cried into the phone and asked for some help. But how can I explain to her that love and compassion for other beings is the highest human value, that caring for another is love, that the joy of bringing benefit to others is timeless happiness. He cannot and does not want to raise her, and it is in no way possible to be friends and love a person without a heart. ________* Maria Sklodowska-Curie is a French experimental scientist of Polish origin (physicist, chemist), teacher, public figure. Awarded the Nobel Prize: in physics (1903) and in chemistry (1911), the first two-time Nobel laureate in history. Founded the Curie Institutes in Paris and Warsaw. Pierre Curie's wife worked with him on radioactivity research. Together with her husband, she discovered the elements radium (from the Latin radiāre “to emit”) and polonium.** The burial orbit, the orbit of existence, is the orbit of artificial space objects to which they are transferred after the end of active work. Also called the space object removal area or disposal zone. Fig. Niki Pyachina I also consult via Skype: reddakinya108