Damn you with your hairdryer and nails. It is impossible to go to the bathroom in the morning. First of all, there you are. Secondly, every now and then there is such an acetone perfume there that, mother, don’t worry... Yes, you’re not mourning, everyone can see that. Half the closet is full of shoes, two fur coats, you will go on vacation to Turkey, and this is not discussed, even though the loan for the second fur coat has not yet been paid. Why are you wearing makeup? Why is it okay to walk around with a pale face in front of me, but not in front of strangers? As if I am obliged to love you even like this, but I need to turn to them with my best, most painted side. Well, yes, I do. What can you do? If I didn’t love you, I would have left him long ago. – Serge, well, how long can you sleep?! Get up! You still have to take Vika to school! - Who said I was sleeping? - Sergei opened his eyes and sat up cheerfully on the bed. - Come on... It’s as if I can’t see myself. Go have breakfast. The kitchen smells like in childhood, of fried sausage. Then, a long time ago and, it seems, in a completely different life, sausage was fried, because it was impossible to eat it otherwise. Well, at the very least, it is unsafe for health. And now - for some culinary reasons. Although, it may be that Galka is simply nostalgic. He himself often indulged in this feeling. That's stupidity! When he was twenty, he absolutely did not understand the meaning of the well-worn word “nostalgia.” At thirty there was no time for that at all. But now, when he is about to turn 40, he has tasted both the unusual word and the very essence of sweet longing for the past. It’s good to miss the past. Firstly, this is how you convince yourself that there was something good in your life, which means there is still a chance of getting it in the future. Secondly, there is definitely no risk that it will return and you will have to live it again for real, “as it was.” Solving the same problems, making choices, thinking, toiling... He probably doubted too much in life and did too little. I was too lazy to study at school, or rather, not very interesting, besides, there was no reason to study anything and get good grades - I was ashamed in front of my comrades, inveterate losers. Therefore, having received a certificate with C grades after the ninth, I decided not to delay and go get a profession. It was a hard time, and he would have joined the bandits, as they called him, but his father said: “It’s better that I kill you myself.” And after all, what good, he really would have killed, he would have had enough brains. I went to the lyceum to study as a mechanic. I tried everything there. I envied the institute ones - somehow everything was cleaner and more interesting. But he understood that there was no chance of entering on his own - without knowledge, without money, with such a certificate. Besides - why? Two-thirds of university graduates went to sell: some jeans, some pies. Those who remained were working hard somewhere for a salary that would be unknown when. There was also the army. For the first six months I tried not to remember, then it became nothing, then it was generally good, just shout to yourself at all the “green stuff” that will do your work for you and cut your toenails, if anything happens... Why? Everyone did it. Who could. Came, walked, worked. In the end, an old friend discovered a car repair shop and invited him to come to him. There Sergei settled down. At twenty-nine, obsessed with a surging desire for comfort and warmth from nowhere, he married Galka. Then she was still Galochka, very young, with smooth white legs and pink ears. A year later Vika was born, and Galochka disappeared somewhere, giving way to Galka - an irritable, caustic person who categorically did not want to have sex and looked five years older yourself. There was little comfort, much less warmth, at home. Sergei was jealous of his daughter - his daughter, at least, received Galkina’s strange love, there wasn’t enough for him anymore. Then there was a short period when Vika reached out to him, followed him like a tail: daddy, daddy, look, show me, tell me why... But he somehow passed quickly - or maybe he imagined it? In any case, now his wife and daughter have formed a coalition - against him. They always united against him - why, one wonders? What harm did he do to them? He fed, watered, clothed, paid for mugs and something else - Galkina’s salary was only enoughfor lipstick and mascara, as she herself said. “Give me a son,” Sergei said one night, after a particularly good day, when Galka was lying with her head on his shoulder. “Let there be another tomboy, all like me...” “Right now,” she grinned. - Will not be. And what can we say, we still can’t afford it. If only in old age, when Vika goes to study. - Do you think then there will be old age? - Well, you certainly will. - Jackdaw seems offended. - Let's go to sleep. To be honest, Sergei has felt old for a long time. I mean, somehow weak. Not because of health - my health was fine, many of my peers were already suffering from heart attacks or were only fulfilling their marital duty on Viagra... I just didn’t have the strength somehow. They were not there in their youth to swim against the tide. There was no time in his youth when, he felt, he had to do something to make it “bang.” It wasn’t even now. And this powerlessness made me want to howl like an animal in a cage. He wanted to, but couldn't change anything. He wanted a wife who would love and respect him, he wanted children, a lot of them, who would look at him with delight and learn to be like him. He wanted a business, a big and beautiful business that would call him to it every day and hour, for which it would be worth waking up. He wanted money and travel, he wanted exciting events, so that something new was constantly happening... He longed to feel like the master of his life - but he couldn’t. In fact, he felt like a performer of a minor role in a seedy provincial theater. And the bitterest bitterness was that it would remain like this until the end, and there would be no second life. Three years ago, he seriously wanted to leave the family. Leave everything to Galka and her daughter, board the train with one suitcase in hand, leave, start “somewhere out there” all over again. And what? He has the right hands, he has a head on his shoulders, he’s a man – that’s why he’s a man, to take care of himself in any situation. Almost made up my mind, then changed my mind. What held me back was not love, or habit, or even guilt, but a thin thought, like a squeaky voice, that maybe a brilliant life is not going well, not because someone is interfering, but because something is wrong inside, and you can’t run away from it and you won’t leave, because it will go with you. Well, he stayed. It’s hard to go nowhere. He had other women over the years of his married life. Galka, of course, didn’t know, and what to know about - well, that’s a story for several meetings. There was not one among them with whom one could escape to the ends of the world. Just tired souls like him who were looking for somewhere to warm up. - Dad, why are you so sad? – Vika sniffed and pulled her head into her shoulders. It's cold and damp outside. It's good that the school is only a few blocks away. – Nothing. – Did you and your mother quarrel again? – No, what made you think that? – Yes, you seem to be in a quarrel all the time. – Vika shrugged her shoulder, adjusting the strap of her backpack. Sergei was still carrying a hefty bag of textbooks in his hand. And what do they teach them there, in the third grade? - What about your car? - Thank you for asking. The suspension has fallen off, we need to change it to hell. “Change it.” “I’ll change it.” Vika nodded. What is it customary to talk about with eight-year-old girls? “How are things at school?” “I haven’t been there yet, I don’t know,” Vika responded caustically. Just like a mother .They were silent the rest of the way. - Ivanovich, what are you doing on your own two feet? Again, you didn’t get around to the darling filly? – Something like that. A shoemaker without boots - have you heard that? Vaska, a young, strong-armed man, recently in their workshop, showed his teeth: - Otherwise. Will you take a sip of beer? It’s there, in my bag. – Crazy – drinking at work? Don’t you know the Andryukhin rules? - Come on. We need to live brighter, we need to live more fun... - Serge, are you drunk? – Galka was amazed. - Wednesday... - What difference does it make? Sergei was not particularly drunk, he only felt warmth and lightness throughout his body. Now, he doesn’t even slur his tongue - is that called “drunk”? - Andryukha will kick you out. – The jackdaw began to look like a knight’s armor from a museum. Heavy, straight and iron. And empty. “He won’t kick me out, where will he go without me.” Who will repair his Primus for such a pittance? I plow like an ox from dawn to dusk, do I have the right to relax? Yes! – No. On Fridaysyes, no on Wednesdays. How many times have I told you... - But you are not my decree. - Who is the decree? – Galka inquired unctuously. “Lord God, that’s who!” “Uh-oh, there it is... Well, then, let him eat and cook for you, Lord your God!” - Jackdaw crumpled up the towel, threw it on the table and flew out of the kitchen. Somewhere behind Vika squeezed into a corner. “I won’t yell at your mother, don’t be afraid,” Sergei said over his shoulder. And he sat down to eat undercooked potatoes. With unwashed hands, right in the jacket. - Gal, do you have any dream? Silence. He lay on his side, looking at Galka’s angry back. - Gal... - Leave me alone, I’m sleeping. - You’re not sleeping, you’re talking to me. - I don’t talk to animals that they don’t understand anything, I don’t have such a habit. “Gal, don’t offend me.” She jumped on the bed and turned to him: “It’s me, don’t offend me?” So you can have me? How much do you want? - How did I offend you? Silence again. - I hate it when you are silent. Once upon a time you chatted incessantly all day long. “Uh-huh.” And then you told me that it’s sickening to live with a chatterbox like me, and it’s better to live on a desert island... - Sorry. I was probably angry for something, so I blurted out... - He blurted out... - She looked at him inquisitively, but already without malice. It was as if she was asking a question with her eyes. “So what do you dream about?” “I want to live well.” So that both we and Vika have everything. – Like in a joke, or what? “Well, man, now you had everything...” said the goldfish. “You again?!” “Okay, okay, I won’t...” The jackdaw was silent for so long that it seemed she wouldn’t answer. for so many years in the world, I’ve seen and heard so many things... – What did I see there! – Don’t interrupt me! Do you know what the meaning of life is? Well, that’s what all this is for? - Well, you, mother, give... But Galka was already wound up, and there was no stopping her. - You and I wake up every day angry as hell, we work hard for a salary that makes you want to cry, I I come home covered in soap, stand at the stove, eat, wash the dishes, check Vika’s notebooks, watch TV and fall asleep. You come, eat, drink, watch TV, sleep. And then - again, all over again, the day is no different from one another... And why do all this? To just have the same morning tomorrow? - We are raising a daughter. - Sergei, for some unknown reason, clenched his teeth. - I know. - Jackdaw suddenly sighed, and as if, along with the sigh, a prickly, restless heat came out of her. “Okay, let’s go to sleep, shall we?” Sergei—this hasn’t happened for a long time—suddenly stretched out and tenderly kissed her on the forehead. Galka pressed herself close to him and became quiet. She seemed to be crying, but Sergei wanted, really, sincerely wanted to console her, to help her with something - but he didn’t know how. Neither her nor myself. He had difficult dreams, and at dawn he woke up. *** How many of them are there in our country, men who are over 35? Those who are far from old age, but whose youth is already behind them. How many of them feel in the prime of life, as is commonly said about this age? No. Not many. Those who were lucky - who chose the right path in life, not the easy one, who married successfully - no, not with daddy’s money, not with boobs, and certainly not with manipulation, but with understanding, sincere women. Those who know that they are doing the right thing, the right thing, and not just “making money”, which they either give to a wife, or put in a bank, or squander in a tavern - one hell of a lot. Not everyone does this, we are very good at it we understand and feel, even, sometimes, in our own skin. But what is much, much worse is that we are afraid to change it. We men, oddly enough, are afraid to let go of the solid ground from under our feet - as if it was not our ancestors who plowed the oceans, they were not the ones who cut the sky with airplane propellers, they were not the ones who led troops and peoples to new lands. We women are so afraid that our men will leave their place and move somewhere into the unknown, as if it were not our foremothers who followed their husbands into the waterless deserts and snowy winds of Siberia, as if they were not the ones who carried the hearths with them and were ready to love and take care no matter where you have to spend the night today. Where, tell me, did the blood memory go? Of course, it didn’t go anywhere. It was covered like ashes with empty beliefs, discontent and