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    ХУДОЖЕСТВЕННАЯ ЛИТЕРАТУРА [191]
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    Главная » Статьи » ХУДОЖЕСТВЕННАЯ ЛИТЕРАТУРА » ХУДОЖЕСТВЕННАЯ ЛИТЕРАТУРА

    Non-historical materialism or pineapples for the enemy of nation part III
       Sergey stretched, yawned, opened his eyes and saw Andrey, who was bent over him. He screwed up his eyes but managed to notice the attentive eyes of some blondie. This sight filled him with less loathing and he opened his eyes again.
    "You OK?” the blondie asked.
    "What is your name?” Sergay asked with a sudden interest.
    "Oh yes, he is certainly OK, " Andrew said tartly. "Does your hand give you any trouble?”
    "You have implanted it,” Sergey gasped.
    "I’m Kate,” the blondie informed. But he was more interested in his hand at the moment. He carefully moved it as far away from the rest of his body as he possibly could and stared at Andrew with horror.
    "What if it somehow gets pressed accidentally?” he wispered.
    "The disc will be activated only on Tuesday before the feparture. You may press it as much as you please”.
       All next week Sergey was being instructed as to how he should adapt in the past. Sergey was quite good at English and higher mathematics. So during one of his intrusions in the past Andrey visited the Pedagogical Institute of Middlevolgashire and discovered that they were short on profs on these subjects. However there was a shortage on all specialties. He, therefore, aroused a lot of enthusiasm by hinting that an outstanding specialist with the diploma of the Moscow University, Sergey Alexandrovich Bakhmetev, was arriving in the city. But, sadly, this incomparable specialist had no place to live in. He screwed up his face at a humble remark about a very comfortable student hostel, where lavatories, by the way, were situated not outside, but inside the building.
       The chancellor, Valentin Dyakonov, hastily added that there was one lavatory on each floor, including twenty students’ apartments. Andrey sighed and declared that in such a case this unique specialist, who is actually two specialists in one, would rather go to a small city near Moscow, where he was going to be given a one-roomed flat with all modern conveniences. The chancellor couldn’t bear this.
    "And we shall provide him with a two-roomed flat!” he said decisively. He thought a little and confessed that the house was wooden, and there was one lavatory in the corridor for four flats. Andrew didn’t act up too much, but pretended to be displeased with the loo in the corridor. The councillor made big eyes.
    "But then we have a wonderful team,” he boasted.
    Andrew couldn’t deny that a good team was perfectly able to replace a good loo, said good-bye, turned round the corner and pressed the disc.
    "I knew you wouldn’t try to get a civilized flat,” Sergey grumbled.
    Andrey brushed the matter aside:
    "You will drop in here to pee,” he explained. "Those who do have civilized flats there are members of the city committee of the Communist party.”
    "Are you kidding? OK, then, can I become its member?”
    Andrey sighed wearingly.
    "What they have there is a mafia,” he said. "You will see for yourself when you come there.”
     
       When Sergey came home he called Gulnara and said in a tired hoarse voice that he was going on a long dangerous business trip, but he asked her not to worry and not to weep. Because most often he would appear at home in the evenings, but he would have to spend nights elsewhere. Gulnara immediately rushed home, full of suspicions and premonitions, and immediately began to worry and to weep. First thing she tried to make sure if he was going on business or would come home in the evenings. 
    "Sometimes I will even stay home for a night,” Sergey promised recklessly and immediately got an excellent family brawl. Gulnara was raging and demanding the name of the bitch with whom he was going to fool around under the disguise of the fictitious trip. He must also immediately confess which of his friends were going to cover him, reckoning that Gulnara was a fool who was going to believe this foul lie. And, finally, nobody was making Sergey to marry her, but if he, the shameless sham and traitor, was thinking of shirking — in that case Gulnara’s brothers, hot-tempered Caucasus guys, would …
    Sergey, who had been prohibited to share any information about time travel, seized the receiver.
    "Andrey,” he shouted. "Explain everything yourself in whatever way you think proper. She thinks that I…”
    Gulnara snatched the reciever form his hand and told Andrey herself everything she thought about him, his work, his friends and some of his close kindred.
    "I told you,” Andrew answered, taking no care who of them would hear his words,” that you should marry a clever one.”
    One can’t say that this helped to soothe Gulnara. Rather the other way round. Sergey, for whom this phrase was meant,was not the one who heard it. And he failed to understand why his girl-friend —usually soft and tender like a spring flower of Caucasus mountains — flew in such a rage. Sergey tried to open his mouth a few times, couldn’t hear what he was saying and slipped into silence, concentrating on the idea if he was missing his parents right at the moment. It turned out that he did miss them so terribly that he felt a sudden urge to pay them a visit. This gave him an inflow of energy. He waited when Gulnara paused to fill her lungs with air and said decisively:
    "You don’t trust me,do you? Then I am leaving!” He threw his staff into a bag to the accomponiment of Gulnara’s speculations about combative qualities of her brothers and hastily left the flat.
     
    Mum was glad. she had never approved of his matrimonial rplans about Gulnara. She was beaming, unloading his bag.
    "This is the first time you have had the backbone to take a decision,” she said. Actually she said it each time when he obeyed her.
    "I agree that Gulnara is a good fancy girl,” she said from the kitchen, where she was cookung something for Sergey. "But it is not nearly enough to marry her. Sergey sulked and tried to steal a can of beer from the fridge.
    "Pour a glass for me too,” the mother asked without turning round. "There is one good thing about Gulya — she would make you an abstainer."
      Sergey was proud of his mother. He was proud that she was not sanctimonious, that she preferred to joke when a weeker one would cry, and, when her sonmade mistakes, she never said: "I told you!” Even the fact that she didn’t mind sometimes having a glass of beer with him he firmly attributed to her merits.
    "I’m being sent on business,” he complained. "And she threatens me with her brothers.”
    "This reminds me of something,” mother laughed. Caucasus vendetta is no joke! Hold on! On business trip? You? But Artemyev can’t spend a day in the bank without you! Is he completely mad?”
    "Mum!” Sergey said with a feeling. "You can’t imagine! It is Andrey who is sending me. With the blessing of Barsov. And they have arranged it all with Artemyev. See?”
    "Oh yes, I do see.” Mum said thoughtfully. "Barsov could persuade anyone! This must be an outstanding scientific discovery and a top secret?”
    "How have you guessed?”
    Mother looked sad.
    "That means I won’t know it before next two days.”
       One of her merits was also insatiable curiousity, due to which her family was also kept posted on the latest events and could, therefore, take adequate decisions.
    An energetic voice of the Father came from the lounge.
    "From what I can see our prodigal son has come to see us.”
       He entered the kitchen and hugged his son.
    "Let me guess what made you come,” he said. "Three guesses. You felt you were missing us and came to see your old Mum and Dad? Doesn’t look like it. Or maybe you have come to wish me a happy birthday? Doesn’t hit home either, it is two months later. Oh, I got it,”exclaimed Dad, looking at the bag in the corner. "You have sent the child of the mountains back to the mountains?”
    "Daddy, calm down!”
    "Sasha, wash you hands,” Mum commanded.
    "But am I right? Have you really sent her to…”
    "I have,”  Sergey. confessed. "You should have seen her raging when I told her I was leaving. She thought I was making off to a lover.”
    "And you are not?”
    "Andrey is sending him on business somewhere very far,” Mum interfered.
    There was a flicker of understanding in Dad’s eyes: "Wait a moment,” he said. "He had me construct a tricky bio-eletronic installation for him. For combing the air in search of space-temporal waves caused by the biotic ones. As far as I could guess it was meant for transfers in time.”
       Sergey tried to look non-chalant, thinking that sometimes his Father could guess too far.
    "Oh, I see!”,  Dad sighed. "All this is a top secret, so everyone knows everything. Could you at least say to what year you are sent?”
    Sergey sniffed and started talking. Parents were listening to him very attentively. The fifties were the years they were born in and, unlike Sergey, they lived it all through. Though they saw only the end of the fifties and, literally speaking, they couldn’t see much of them, being babies at that time. Sergey regarded as useless Mum’s enthusiastic remembrances about some New Year party for children arranged by family friends, with delicious pies the size of a kitchen table, on one of which she sat.
    "There was a field where we have the Riverside district now,” — Dad added helpfully. "With a wooden bridge across the river.”
    This information, Sergey meekly remarked, will hardly help him adapt among the collegues and neghbours.
    "Don’t get nasty,” Mum said. "By the way, your Granddad worked at the Pedagogical Institute in nineteen fifty three.”
    "He did?”
    "From the first day, practically,” Mum replied proudly.
    The Granddad was her father and she was very proud of him.
    "So it’s there you will work," Mother said. "And you will see my Dad. Young and handsome. You will be able to tell me what he was like then. Because I wasn’t there in nineteen fifty three. I will be born only three years later.”
    "And I — in half a year,” Dad boasted.
    "Excellent!,” Sergey rejoiced. "I will get hired as your nurse and change your diapers. And slap you if you are naughty.”
    "You must take into consideration,” Dad said anxiously, "that I never used corporal punishment…”
    The telephone interrupted them abruptly.
    "This will be Gulnara,” Sergey said nervously. "I recognize the ring.”
    The telephone went on ringing and the Bakhmetevs' were looking at it thoughtfully.
    "It may be somebody from my work,” Dad said. "Sergey, pick up the receiver, will you?
    "Why me?” said Sergey indignantly but took the receiver. This really was Gulnara.
    "You can’t have been unhappy,” — she started right off the bat.
       Sergey desperately waved his hand and accidentally turned off the speakerphone.
    "I know all you erogenic zones. I even scratched yout toe.
    "You scraped it so hard that I wore a plaster for a week afterwards,” Sergey protested. "I have a dozen of other places which I don’t have to squeeze into a boot, " he added peevishly and, seeing that Dad was listening with alively interest, reached out his hand to the speakerphone. "Leave it,” Dad protested.
    "I will recite a poem,” Gulnara decided. "When wind touches your cheek, you will remember me… ,” she started pathetically.
    Sergey started, put the receiver beside the telephone and went to the bathroom to take a bath. Dad sat comfortably in the armchair, closed his eyes and started listening, nodding his head in admiration.
    "I will be your sun, your mouthful of water in a scorching desert, … Gulnara rushed on. "Whatever thirst you have, you will not satiate it without me,” she threatened menacingly and clammed up. There came no hushed weepings, applauds and confessions of love, so she was alarmed.
    "Hello? Have you got asleep?” she called discontentedly.
    Dad shook himself, opened his eyes and looked at the telephone.
    "Sergey is taking a bath. Do continue,” he offered benignly.
    Gulnara felt she had no wish to continue and started explaining to Alexander Bakhmetev that his son was a mean sham. Then she illogically offered that he should come back to her, because she had those who could say a word or two in her defence.
      Alexander stood up near the telphone and lifted up his hand picturesquely. Mum looked at him curiously.
    "My son,” he began pathetically, "is going on a long and dangerous business trip. And so he invited his girl-friend to say good-bye to her. And so what? Did the girl he loved inspire him for a heroic deed, support him at a difficult moment?”
    His voice took an epic sounding as if he was reciting a ballad. "No, she didn’t support him at the time of an ordeal,” he concluded sadly. "She didn’t become his support, she didn’t foster his spirit. Quite the opposite, she took away his peace and confidence. What a shame! Where are her noble Caucasus brothers?” he inquired, thrusting his arm aside and nearly knocking spectacles from his wife’s nose. "I want to speak with them. (Seryozha, you are splashing water on the floor). Where are these highlanders with the soul of a sublime eagle, and not of a hyena? They would blush for shame about their sister if they knew. Is that how her wise parents brought her up? Sergey, leave some shower gel, will you? No, this is not the way they brought her up.
    Gulnara, ashamed, quitely put down the receiver. It would be better, she thought, if her brothers don’t leave the mountains sofar.
    "Bravo,” said Mum admiringly. Alexander gave a majextic bow and went to get his son out of the bathroom.
    On Tuesday at six in the morning Sergey was in the laborotary. Andry was on his right, Anatoly Barsov was on his left. Interrupting one another, they were repeating what they had been telling him all previous week.
    "Remember two most important things. You have four minutes to determine the place and themoment of the materialization,” instructed Barsov. "You may shift…”
    "Within three hundred metres, I remember,” answered Sergey impatiently.
    "… stretching your arm with the disc in the direction of your movement,” Andrey continued instructively. "See?”
    Barsov took Sergey by his arm, stretched it and eхplained: "This is how you will move, following you arm.”
    "I know!”
    "Revision is the basis of learning,” exlaimed Barsov, pointing up his forefinger. "What must youdo to become visible?"
    "Let the disc go.”
    "What will happen if you let it go at once without choosing place and time?”
    "I will land behind the blue tanks,” answered Sergey trying to be patient. "By the way, what are these things for?”
    "They are gas containers. Gas used to be brought by trucks, in cylinders, and pumped into them. So don’t smoke next to the tanks.”
    Sergey took offence: "I don’t smoke. Look here, it is very uncomfortable that I will be able to return only to this laboratory. It is far from work and it is far from home. Taking into consideration that I will be awfully pressed for time…”
    "There is nothing to be done about it so far,” Barsov sighed. "I don’t think that implanting you asecond disc will be a good idea. You will have to manage somehow. Besides it is safer this way. The situation may require our immediate interference And remember: we will follow every your step and take you back in case of a danger.”
    Sergey was surprised:
    "I thought I would be able to return myself?”
    "Well… not exactly. There may be a situation when you have no time to press the disc. Or no opportunity.”
    "How is this?” asked Sergey alertly.
    "If you are arrested,” explained Andrey helpfully, "and have you hands tied behind your back. So don’t swagger about too much there, you, the messemger of the future.” 
    "And you don’t fall asleep in front of the display,” Sergey said nervously.
    "Don’t panic,” Andrey said soothingly. "Have a coffee for the road and it is time for you to be off. It is already seven.”
    Kate brought a huge dish with sandwiches.
    "Where will I eat there?” Sergey asked with his mouth full.
    "You will buy food in a shop. Like a simple Soviet citizen. Do you remember where you’ve got your money?”
    Sergey checked the contents of his purse in the inner pocket of his dandified sheepskin coat. He liked the long narrow violet papers. A miner with a rock breaker on his shoulder and with the smile of an idiot was looking at him from them.
       Then he lifted the cover of his espionage case with a digital lock. Tiny cameras and microphones were in a soap box.
    "Put two sets in your suit pocket,” Anatoly Vasilyevich demanded. "You may need them soon.” At last the coffee was consumed and the sandwiches were all eaten.
    "Well, guys… ” Sergey started to shake everybody’s hands.”
    "There, there, "Andrey protested. "We’ll be seeing you in a couple of hours.”
    "Good luck,” Barsov said. "Try to be up to the epoch there."
    He took Sergey closer to the monitor and ordered: "Press it!”
    And Sergey pressed.
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