Our clan of clowns

Dedicated to Gurgen Maharu.
the author has nothing better to do

With the hint of water rolling over the dust, something crawls inside me, infecting my entire body. And my cells give way. Maybe it's cancer, maybe it's a secret memory of a past trouble, maybe, unknowingly, I interfered with something strong and my heart is secretly waiting for the beating. Maybe my essence is filled with some ingenuity, which should be born with some touch, suddenly, like a sneeze. I don't know. And before I know it, for me he is a cancer lurking like a spider, waiting for punishment, a dust mite with his nose stuck in his nose, waiting for a ray of sunshine - happ...
We are in the village, we are in our clan. And the tribesmen are clowns, everyone will make a village laugh. And when all our clansmen gather in one place, the power to make people laugh increases in the ratio that the striking power of a hundred individual soldiers is in relation to the striking power of a company of a hundred soldiers. It is clear that we will make all the villages of the world laugh. It is clear that now our laughter should have been like the echo of thunder when it hit the village. There is a Matsak in the family, twenty-five years old, newly married, sleeping a lot. There is also a rooster. I don't remember. Let's name it Sultan. As soon as this Matsak got married and was getting up late from sleep, this Sultan began to fly to the railing of the balcony and, oh my God, Matsak is sleeping!... He called so much that Matsak answered from inside, "Zahrumar!"... Then he began to convince my grandmother that he is sick, he will not get well until he eats rooster meat. And my grandmother used to answer.
- Boys of your height rule the village.
- You know.
Matsak continued to wake up late, and the Sultan announced throughout the village that Matsak has only one wife, but he is sleeping, and he, he, has thirty wives, but he will wake up soon... That's when Matsak caught him. In his panties, with his hair messy, one eye closed, he came out and grabbed it.
- I will slaughter, dear Matsak, - said the grandmother, - when the summer work is over, I will slaughter.
"You know," Matsak said. And it turned out that the Sultan, despite the apricot, ruby ​​crown and other royal things, apart from the holy mosque beak, has another hole on him, covered with ghumash, and Matsak knows its approximate location. Matsak was giving back the ghumashe dars for a long time, and the Sultan was chirping something with royal anger. if the children of the clan were present, they would accurately translate his Moorish language; old people, you used to understand this and that. perhaps the Sultan was giving an order for beheading. perhaps he was declaring his immunity as a reference, one also seemed to say with some certainty. "don't you dare". I don't know, except that there was the letter "ch" and the imperative accent. So, different things. Who knows, those kings speak in such a way when they are angry that it seems to a person that they speak words and did not know how to speak at all. And Maatsak was on his business. The king of the giants was making fun of the king who was brought as a gift by the dwarves.
- Go ahead.- And Matsak smiled with the smile of an investigator who discovers a carefully hidden theft.
Now the Sultan was begging for peace. the harem leaves Matsak, he doesn't blow a horn in the bedroom, he becomes a vassal-king, kah, kah, keggh, if other sultans try to disturb Matsak's royal sleep by making unpleasant noises, the Sultan breaks their crowns and beats their apricots. girl!
- You should have thought about that sooner - Matsak said.
And it turned out that the Sultan, apart from the beak, has another hole, and it turned out that you can lubricate that hole with car oil, even though it was not a car hole. From where to where? Long live Matsak.
"Kha, kha, kha...- The Sultan was now protesting in such a depressed voice that it was obvious that he would not do anything, he would complain, the most."
- Well, now call so much... - Matsak threw him down from the balcony and went to sleep.
Changing his steps, the Sultan thought for a long time about what happened to him, stretched his neck and looked around, waiting for comments from others. after all, those kings are poor in thinking. they cannot think without an advisor. Even so, the Sultan did not understand what they had done to him, and he was so confused that he was not reprimanded. flew to the railing, flapped his wings and wanted to call out, "Tragrugh!" Perhaps, Matsak is also sleeping!... But the air did not come out of the beak, but from the other, oiled place, and it came out not at all beautiful, but "fuss".
...With the reminder of the water rolling over the dust, something swells inside me, infecting my whole body. And my cells give way. Maybe it's cancer, maybe it's a secret memory of a past trouble, maybe, unknowingly, I interfered with something strong, and my heart is secretly waiting for the beating. Maybe my essence is filled with some ingenuity, which should be born with some touch, suddenly, like a sneeze. I don't know. And until I know, for me he is a cancer hiding like a spider, he is a punishment officer, he is a dust-eater with his nose stuck in his nose, waiting for a ray of sunshine - oops...
Here! Matsak is smart, and my grandmother's lips do not wrinkle from the suppressed laughter. My grandmother, on the contrary, says:
- Enter the ground, the ground... boys of your height are leading the village.
That is true. One of the boys of his height recently became the manager of the farm. Matsak and that boy were born on the same day, they entered school together. They studied well, both were excellent. They didn't look alike, but somewhere, it seemed, there was a fraud, and they were from the same father, so much so that they looked alike. The only difference was that Matsak would suddenly change a word of the assigned verse, turn the bread into a sausage, for example, or change a line: instead of saying our life is so happy, he recited uncle's in-laws, and that boy listened, then seriously objected. "You say wrong. It's not sausage, it's bread." Before meeting Algebra, they used to travel together. That boy stayed in the algebra class. in the first quarter, until he knew the seriousness of the subject, he studied, nothing, the grade was "4". in the second quarter he said: "But it's a strong science, isn't it..." and covering his ears with pointers, he looked at a letter in the textbook.
- Plus. Look, it's interesting, isn't it, plus...
In the second quarter, the rating was "3". It was "2" in the third, "1" in the fourth. In the seventh grade, that boy sat out for two years, in the eighth grade for three years, and in the ninth grade, he told his underclassmen to fight.
- Reach for the ninth, extend your tongue. "The causes of the war. It is necessary to distinguish the effect from the cause.
In the tenth grade, that boy studied until his classmates went to the institute, returned to school, and gave him a lesson.
And he raised his hand to ask questions to the teachers, who were now his peers.
- Comrade Hakobyan, why don't we say bider, but derbai? "Derby - bye der," he said worriedly.
It happened that friends were telling a joke, this was serious listening and at the end they nodded their heads positively: - Yes!
And Matsak picked up algebra in the seventh grade as easily as if it were a baton, he grabbed it while running. And in general, he finished school so quickly that people didn't have time to see which class textbook he was holding. People did not notice his cleverness.
He had solved it quickly - it was Matsaki, it was an unerring dictation - it was Matsaki, the war - it is a cause, it is a consequence, it is an excuse - he had analyzed all aspects - it was Matsaki, he had saved the class when the inspector came - it was Matsaki. But Matsak did all that very lightly, he didn't do it seriously, as if everything was on his tongue, he just blurted it out, he didn't think. especially since one of the eyes was very bulging.
And that boy was thinking. his face was serious and so serious, and he was thinking that it seemed as if he had saved the class when the inspector came, it was him, he had analyzed the war, it was him, and he had solved Matsak's problems, he had been friendly, and he had deliberately messed up his own to save his friend. he had written it, erased it, underneath it, as if after thinking, he had drawn a human head and handed it over to the examining teachers. And looking at the seriousness of his face, one could guess for sure.
- You will go to the Faculty of Philosophy, right?
And looking at Matsak's face, people said:
- Now it's compulsory education, why didn't you go to school?
Then both of them worked on a livestock farm. The milk storekeeper used to say to that boy every day.
- Your herd's milk is low today. What happened, are you sick? - And every day it seemed to the storekeeper that the previous day the milk of that boy's herd was a record and it will be the same tomorrow. And Matsaki used to say:
- Wow, you're mixing water. he didn't believe in the tool. "You must have mixed water," said Matsaki.
They came from the center to Moscow to take Matsak to the exhibition. they did not know him by face. they looked for the highest result in the lists, found those numbers, and against them was written Matsak. And addressing that boy in the office, the representative of the regional committee said:
- So, friend Matsak, get ready to fly tomorrow.
"I am Matsak," said Matsak.
- Oh... - that friend smiled benevolently, - it is something familiar to me. I know that every village has its clown.
And although that boy was not Matsak at all - he went to the exhibition. And not only an exhibition. His cases were sent to a remote institute. With that, he was made the manager of the farm. With that, he used to preside over solemn meetings. And you will see that there, at the institute, looking at his seriousness, the professors will take him to hospital. And the inpatient department will keep him as a graduate student. He is a doctoral candidate.
It all happens by itself. no one is his powerful uncle, that boy does not care about anyone. He is just serious about himself. Something that Matsaki lacks. Let's say that Matsak is not guilty. the eye is on the outside. But let's also think that if the sly eye was that boy's, in our imagination, the seriousness would be sly eyed. It's just that you need to raise everything with a moan, lower it with a moan, it's not your business, you don't want to moan again, moan where it was not.
...With the reminder of the water rolling over the dust, something swells inside me, infecting my whole body. And my cells give way. Maybe it's cancer, maybe it's a secret memory of a past trouble, maybe, unknowingly, I'm interfering with something strong, and my heart is secretly waiting for the beating.
We are in the village, we are in our clan. And clan members are clowns, each of them will make a village laugh. And when all our clansmen gather in one place, the strength of the clan increases in the ratio that the striking power of a hundred individual soldiers is in relation to the striking power of a company of a hundred soldiers.
The trouble is that the world is serious, it thinks, it has developed the sinew of thinking like the back of a wrestler, and the sinew of laughter has become the wing of a hermit. Those who marry into the tribe, if they are from a wealthy family, feel good with us at first, because in the evening, the tribe sits on the couch, the throne, around the table and starts making caricatures of the village. pulls - hangs someone's nose, tears someone's mouth - reaches the ears, and stretches the ears so that they rise from the sides of the hat and are far above the head, they move in the air, the tribe makes someone speak so fast that the words stick together, there is no gap, it happens that the letter of a word flies - fits into another word - and that bride thinks that she has fallen. is a court. Then that daughter-in-law sees that that fast talker, it's true, slurs his words, but he's the president, the other one, it's true, has ears that swing in the air, but he's not a donkey. he just moves his ears and carries things to his house, and the snotty nose is the chairman of the audit commission. finds deficiencies and complains, bribes and complains. unhappy - unhappy, laughs at everyone. And the daughter-in-law of the family is waiting for us to sit on the couch, the throne, at the table to caricature the village, and she screams.
- And what are you? The world is being plundered, and these are sitting here: this one's nose, this one's mouth, this one's ears... Look at your ears, your ears... You were the ones with ears, I was naive...
The brides from Unevor homes grow old in two years, they are the most violent in the village and die at the age of thirty-seven-forty, from gall bladder disease, impetigo, itch of the tendons, and according to those who are dying, they are killed by the stony face of our clan in the face of the world.
And if the bride is the daughter of a shepherd, a thresher pulling a sledgehammer, an arrowhead indifferently watching the speed of a speedboat, or a peaceful hunter, she sits on the throne in the family and laughs and says: "Oh, death of laughter."
Thus, with the daughter of that archer or peaceful hunter, our clan becomes rich. They enrich our clan with laughing children.
It should not be thought that brides from wealthy homes disappear like that, leaving only a mound of earth in this world, which is leveling to the ground day by day. Those born from them are a bit bilious, a bit clownish, sometimes they curse, sometimes they laugh. In general, they leave the impression of a man whose hands are itching for a fight, but he doesn't get involved in the tour de force. One of them is now imprisoned for theft. And until then, he was laughing at theft, pursuit, interrogation and detective dog. He broke down the wall behind him, entered the store, took what he found in the dark: a box of black laundry soap, a box of cognac, a kilo of change and a jacket four or five sizes bigger than himself. That's all. At least this much was found in the manure. And the shop worker said that they took fourteen-fifteen thousand worth of goods. To steal - to steal. Many people steal a lot of things, but they appear in front of people as if the ceremony of awarding them with a medal has just ended. And our clansman got the clown nerve the day after the theft. He drank one of the cognacs, put on his jacket, filled his pocket with coins so that the jacket was hanging on that side, rubbing on the ground, and took the child's paw and took him to the store. "Which sweet do you want, papa is not poor." During the interrogation, he was torn about whether what was there was soap, small coins, a jacket and brandy, the son of a dog did not say the location of the main reserve. then pointed to the shop worker's stomach. This sat down, saddened by the loss of the state, saddened by the scoundrels, and shook his head with the words of the accuser, emphasizing the words of justice. But this was seen differently to our clansman. Our family member understood that the shop worker was making fun of him. "What a thief you are, my brother, you took a kilo of kopecks at once, of course you will be caught. You have to take a few pennies a day, little by little, little by little. At the end, there is another kilo, but it is not visible. In the end, there are fifteen thousand. Well, my brother..." The tribe didn't convince him that he didn't have a main reserve, he got angry, cursed, fell down on the chair tiredly and then laughed, said the investigator's questions before the investigator and growled, then said that he won't tell the location of the reserve until a tracking dog is brought. "Am I such a common thief that you got up without a dog?" Then he caught the moment when his patience was about to break and prevented him. "Don't you think it's time to beat?"
The clan judged the shop worker in the same way as the clan did, the clan wanted to throw a press in his face, sometimes to break the judge's incomprehensible head, but he could not do anything and gave the stolen fifteen thousand, which was the cows of the entire clan, the rings of the brides, "Sona. 1905" and "Pakhra" carpets, "Peacock" carpet, self-ironing machine, sewing machine and a couple of pillows. And he gave his laugh against that robbery.
- Who are you laughing at? You are laughing at yourself.
- Who was it? One of the brides was rubbing the place of the ring. His father was an archer, and he was an ear stretcher, but God knows why he was bilious. He said that it was a herd of gorillas and not a tribe, he said that it was enough during the interrogation, what is two hours, to look like a serious person for two hours, so that the damage was paid by the one who did the damage and not that, that, that... the soap, the donkey, that soap thief. He was right. But those clowns are funny when they try to be sad, to be serious, to pretend to think, to rush like a businessman to do things that serious people do. He, that clown, thinks, he is in a hurry, and it seems that he does not think badly and when he is in a hurry, he does not lag behind the businessman. But some boyish desire arises in you to tap his temple with a folded index finger: hey, are you thinking, think, think, or to run after that hurrying person on the street and call. clown, clown...
Vakhtang's child was seriously ill. Vakhtang was howling, his red eyes were bulging, and the brigadier came and said:
- You cried again...
A person is born in our clan, a person dies - no one knows about it. maybe they know, but they don't take it seriously, they consider it something like theater. Only we notice our child's babbling, walking, cuteness, cuteness - the outside world only records the birth of our child in order to take him to military service twenty years later, the outside world only deals with those of us who are ready for that. He comes, - go to work, - he says and gives a name that is not the name on the birth certificate, - Nazar, Matso or something like that, which was not the name of the priest, was not the name of the president of the executive committee and is not the name of any of the people in the current order, but of some blacksmith, miller and other such people, who silence all the impulses that invite the plunder sent by the world in the noise of the rattle. and they keep their heads down. Water and rattle are not enough, they become half deaf, deafness is not enough, they stuff cotton in their ears, and no seductive impulse reaches the depths of their consciousness. They are the best storyteller. They must have invented the fairy tale in which the wolf and the mackerel graze together and there is no dog in the herd. If their name is Tigran, the world says Tigo, if Matsak, it says Matso, and no matter how short the name is, the world throws something away, because the world itself has lost some things before running away with plunder and wants to bring everyone into its image, with the pretense of a bad woman whose palate does not have integrity.
This is not news, it has a history. And that history goes back and forth to the days of Tigran the Great, Tigran the Great's palace. The palace had a tightrope walker and a clown, I guess. The clown was the grandfather of our clan. The tightrope walker crossed the rope with a pole, seriously, tensely, with sweat on his forehead. They gave him a gold coin. Then the clown jumped on the wire without a pole, making people laugh, sometimes showing that he was falling, maybe falling to make people laugh, then he ran again, sometimes over the wire, sometimes under it. But because he was wearing donkey's dung and smeared soot on his nose, he was thrown into a rotten pineapple. And the first drop of poison dripped into our grandfather's smile. A smile flows in our veins like pure, warm, abundant blood. one drop of poison is too little to poison us. But the diseased gallbladder of the world, every time, for two thousand years continuously, has dripped poison into our blood, and now a generation whose eyes do not laugh is laughing. And the teeth are abundant when they open to laugh, and the voice is shrill, but the bitterness looks from the eyes.
What immunity we are losing! And so, without laughter, life will eat us like a cancer in two days.

2:
I want to tell how Vakhtang used to laugh against failure. But let's agree from the beginning that in 1950 we were living badly, even though it is true, 1950 falls after 1917.
The thing is that Vakhtang finished high school at the age of 50. And because he was always praised at school, he thought about university. It was time to go and get the certificate. My father, the happiest of our family of clowns, started.
- Did you learn something or is it a paper, you still get it?
"I learned," Vakhtang said.
My father looked at him with a certain suspicion. That look meant. you didn't study, you didn't study, why are you deceiving me?
"Shall I prove it?" Vakhtang asked.
I was in the seventh grade, studying geometry, I said:
- Axioms do not need proof.
"It's true," said Vakhtang, "let's not prove it."
But at the same moment, his eyes twinkled. it meant that an unused ingenuity had been found, a wonderful thing that, who knows, was rusting in a corner.
- Let's prove it to dad.
At my two-year-old brother's place, we spilled a glass of water on the ground without crying, and the child squirmed and then cried. And my father, Vakhtang, I saw that the child wet him, under him, between his legs, a small pond was made of his water.
- It was a thing, it happened again. - My father looked at the grandfather and winked at us. Grandpa was doing something serious with his glasses on his nose. We raised the water pot above our heads and poured all the water out with a grunt. There was a steady sound of rain. The grandfather looked for the cane, got confused, didn't see the cane at his feet and didn't wait for us to give it to him - he scurried away. He was in such a hurry, lost himself in such a way that after half an hour he wondered what had happened to his hand. And sometimes he looked towards us suspiciously.
"Well, they are children, it will happen to them," said my father, and it appeared that he wanted us to try the experiment on him.
"Okay," we said, "you know who regretted it... and looking into his eyes, we took our hands to the big cow."
"Get lost, you stupid boys," my father slammed his foot on the ground.
"It's okay," I said to my father, "jug, you'll ban us." But if one day it will rain, it will start raining immediately, we will see how you run along the grandfather's path...
On the way, when we were leaving, we were happy to make my father laugh, and when we were coming, we were happy for him, because the teachers unanimously insisted that the doors of any university are open to Vakhtang. So, it was a university, marble staircases, professors with gold-rimmed glasses and Vakhtang in a clean shirt. And black glitter shoes. Boots, because we were in trech, the trech was a hole, and the stone scratched Vakhtang's leg. And because Vakhtang was already in our minds with shoes and a white shirt, we laughed at the track. After all, he, that bitch, was a prick himself, he didn't have anything underneath, but he planted his nose, as if he wasn't the prick himself. A university, so a university. Vakhtang will be a third-year student, I will be accepted. We will sit together at the session of the student scientific council and throw sharp words at those who say wrong things. The professor will smile at us.
We opened the door, his father, my uncle, was sitting, cleaning leather with a piece of glass. The mother was spinning wool. The walls were not plastered. The ceiling was not boarded. The floor was on the ground. It was a barn, not a house. And the carpet deer was not an ornament, it was an animal. fill the front with hay and the barn will be a real barn. My God... You are not a sheep of the old days, that you lived with fairy tales and cows, the barn was warm, and it seemed like a kingdom to you. if you didn't have a dream, what you saw was a cow and there were cows and cows in your dream. Imagine a king with a fan, put boiled milk in front of him to eat, feel with some instinct that the milk is not enough and say: - Milk with lavash and other royal things.
You have read a book, you know the names, you know the approximate size of the earth, every day you hear about the atomic bomb, the power of which you like, you see a movie, the colors of the movie are so bright that your eyes are dazzled, you can bring the distant lamp Mars closer to you in your mind, to imagine on it seas, fields, mountains in a red mist - and it turns out that they are in a dream have been, you are not among them, yours is a house with sooty walls, it is leather, scrape it with glass, shed your hair, - khert, khert, khert - so that you can wear a coat, go to keep a calf, so that Mars becomes a distant lamp.
- Hren ha! The star of eznarazit comes out...
"My child received the certificate," said the mother.
"I will go to study," said Vakhtang.
"Did you get it?" said the father.
- I will go to study.
"Let me take the size of your foot," said the father.
- I will go to study.
"Let me measure your leg," said the father.
- I don't need it, I will wear shoes, take the size of whoever is going to wear them.
"It's very good leather," said the father, "it's the back layer, it will last for two months."
- I will go to study.
- Your leg.
Vakhtang did not give up.
- Your leg. - The father spread the leather in front of Vakhtang. - Put your leg. It is good leather.
Vakhtang did not set foot. The father was looking around: at the wife, at me, at the walls... then again at the wife, at me, at the walls.
"It's good leather," he said confusedly and tilted his head. After that he did not raise his head again. There was no solid thing around that could be grasped. the walls, well, they were musty walls, the woman looked at him with the eyes of one who was drowning like him, and as for me, now, assuming ten or twelve years from now, my pity should come, and I should hate his poverty, and be disgusted by that poverty, like a giant who is eaten by a louse. He brought the whole of Europe under his feet to the war, he argued with his schoolmates and textbooks about the reasons for Germany's defeat, he had brought a handful of medals and medals with him, if he grabbed an ox, the ox would kneel, and now he was crouching on the ground - khrt, khrt, khrt... His hands were trembling, his finger was pierced. And sucking the blood, he began to count how much the cow will sell, take out three thousand rubles, one thousand five hundred for Vakhtang's shoes-jacket, one thousand five hundred for food, until January... The cow will sell, take six thousand rubles, two thousand five hundred for shoes, jacket, coat, three thousand five hundred for eating, for one year. The remaining four years? The cow will sell, it will take out ten thousand rubles, that's money for the train, money for clothes, money for bread, that's three years of life for you... And the remaining two years?... The cow sold, very good, took out one million eight hundred and forty thousand six hundred and ninety-four rubles, good, the cow's money was enough for five years, Vakhtang argued with the professors, won... And the house? there is a child at home, there is a mother of a child, potatoes are not enough for them...
"Your leg," shouted my uncle, "puppy..."
Vakhtang gave his leg. The father took the size of his foot, shaped the leather and began to pierce it. And constantly down, looking at the skin. Vakhtang went out. I stood and watched. Now, ten or twelve years later, I suppose, my uncle grew up, became huge, became bronze, walked across the countries of Europe, stood in Berlin, tall, big, proud, and glittered with the luster of puffy bronze, and the sculptor carved his name on his pedestal.
- What does this blood want from me?- said my uncle sucking his finger. The woman brought oil, she cut the blood with oil. - Why are you looking, my son, - said my uncle, - you don't have a belt, ha!... You envy Vakhtang, ha!... I worked, I worked for you too... Leather is very good if you wear it! You won't wear it, the child will grow up and wear it, he won't wear it either...
I went out. Vakhtang was in the garden, his eyes were wet.
"Why are you crying?" Vakhtang said to me.
- And you?
- Mine was from Kotem.
- Where is the kotem... there is no kotem!... the kotem has just sprouted... If there was, I would have eaten it from the kotem!
- Well, go, philosopher!
Vakhtang's eyes twinkled: "When you were crying, as if you were foaling," and he showed the size of the foal: small, woolly, with a white muzzle... What a funny and lovely thing it is when that foal tries to foal. He can't do it at all, he completely distorts it, like my brother distorts the word "counter-revolutionary". - Hapaheka...
Then we went to steal apples from grandma. The pantry door was open. But to make it a real robbery, we entered through the window. And in order to make it a real theft, we took three apples and kept them in our laps and wanted to go out the window, so that it was a real theft. Vakhtang pulled his body halfway out and stayed. "Go," I said. He told me not to talk. I went out the door to see what happened - my grandmother was standing there, and they were looking at each other like a boy in a fairy tale and a horse trampling the field. Delighted with each other. Then the grandmother smiled with a toothless smile. "Give me a piece," she turned to me. I giggled, holding the pebble in my hand, saying, "Give me a feather."
- I caught a cat thief... Give me a feather, I tell you... - And the grandmother searched and found the chalik in her hand. He went into the pantry and took out Vakhtang's cloth pants from the pantry. After all, his head with a hat and his arms with sleeves were outside the window and only below the waist was inside.
- You, you, you, you, - the grandmother was hitting, and I was getting serious.
Vakhtang was pulling himself, he couldn't get out. And when the grandmother was already taking care of herself, Vakhtang pulled himself up, stomped out and ran away laughing.
- Thief dog...
Then my grandmother turned to me, and it turned out that there is a landlord and a thief, and there is a door, the landlord has a stick in his hand, and the thief is a cowardly rabbit, and the only door is held by the landlord.
- What are you doing here...- the grandmother brought the shovel, I threw myself to the right, the wood broke the pile under the left wall. The grandmother brought the shovel, I threw myself to the left, the wood broke the pile under the right wall. grandmother brought the shovel, I stretched forward, and the wood broke the pile under the back wall. grandmother brought the shovel on me, I threw myself back, and the stick broke the door jamb. All the coins were broken. When the bottom of the left wall was broken, my grandmother said: - nothing, I will cover it, the old money will still be there. When the second one broke, my grandmother said: - nothing, I'll hide it, it will be the same money. When all the coins were broken, my grandmother cried and said: - Where did I get so many coins... I don't have that many coins... I don't have that many coins... I don't have that many coins...
- Grandma...
He lost seven sons, one brother, four sons and eleven grandsons in the war. In 1943, he brought the body of a little boy from Tiflis hospital. he murmured words of comfort to the bride and stirred the soul's bread into the fire. Later, she remembered her little son with a sharp longing, she tried to take out the photo in front of the drawer, and there were twenty-three of them, the photos of the lost, the grandmother could not reach the photo of her little son, she took out one of the twenty-three and murmured while rocking.
- Grandma...
- I don't have that much cover, I don't have that much cover... Will there be this much cover...?
He was holding a broken piece of money under the door and was rocking and muttering.
- Oh, grandma...
. . . . .. .. . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . .. .. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Then I wanted to go out, find Vakhtang. I reached the door, grandmother blocked the way with a pebble.
- From the window. You are not Tang from Vakhtang. From the window. I'll tell you to be kicked out of school, you cat thief...
Then, twelve years ago, in 1950, Vakhtang's year of not studying, Vakhtang and I fought our dogs. They were snarling with open teeth, they didn't come at us, and we pushed them, threw them on top of each other. They got mixed together, they became a round coil, you couldn't see which was the leg, the tail, the head, which was under, which was on top, and there was such a clatter that the whole neighborhood came out to look.
Of course, he did not go to university. Some go to university, some don't. Those who go wear shoes once and for all, and those who don't go, if there are 1950, the track is enough. It is not a big misfortune. People lose twenty-three relatives, but they still hold on so that the memories of the twenty-three have shelter. It is necessary to simply fight dogs, play theft-theft, try the conditioned reflex on people from small to large - and the trech looks like a shoe, the shoe looks like a trech. It doesn't even seem unimportant if the leather is belly, will it last a little, or is it a back stripe? At least we were satisfied with our tracks. We wore them for three months without getting punctured, and for another three months we wore them with a patch. About seven months.