Navalyayev. Non fictional stories

– Thanks to well-coordinated and active actions, a festive table was organized in a moment, composed of a crumpled bonnet of the 52nd Gazon, laid on a structure that had been adjusted to automatism from "bald" "victorian" tires. On the improvised table-top, immediately appeared a kind of dishes: a crumpled aluminum mug; Dimensional pharmacy glass; Something resembling a multibeam insulator RFO, twisted from a hook; Empty tin can from the Hungarian tomato paste "Globus", long adapted to the vessel for making hot drinks; Folding plastic cup, extracted from the case, with the label "Mirgorod"; And of course a few faceted glasses, with muddy, almost impenetrable walls. All this mess was immediately filled with a smelly moonshine, and Pif, like an elder, raised a "glass".

– "Well, friends, it's not from the dead donkey's ears, but just today a wonderful man was born…"

– He looked at the happy faces of those present, and, not finding a newborn, was indignant.

– "… hey, brothers, where's Evpat?!"

– A dense series of brave men opened and before the eyes of the celebrated appeared the grandson of the orthopedist, he is the object of today's congratulations, peacefully dormant in the corner, leaning on the welding machine.

– – Yes-ah…

– Stretched out the old man.

– -… Well, the holiday has imperceptibly passed to that stage, when congratulations are still important to say, since they are already not wishes, but only a formal toast, without which guests can not drink, do not have a snack.

– – Then for the birthday boy!

– Nahalyavushkin, who lost his patience, screamed, after which they drained the dishes. Only Vittorio and Navalyaev did not touch the vessels with fetid liquid.

– – Do not understand!

– Outraged Kolya-Carburetor.

– "But do not you drink this?"

– – No, thanks, I do not drink so strong…

– The apologetic tone was uttered by the guest.

– – And I, sorry, do not use it at all.

– Navalyaev hurried to add.

– "Nope, it will not do!"

– Carburetor roared, as though he saw treachery and a hidden threat as a failure.

– "It's not human!"

– "Indeed, Vittorio, sip, this tradition." You remember – it's easier to drink than to explain why this should not be done.

– In a fatherly way, Piff asked. The guest nodded to himself.

– – Here you go!

– Kolyan did not stop. Nahaljavushkin, who treated the stranger with amazing generosity, that is, indifferently who paid vodka, clapped his hands, yelled.

– – Bottoms Up!

– All present have picked up.

– – Bottoms Up! Bottoms Up!

– Vittorio turned to Navalyaev.

– – Well, then only with you.

– "Come on, Kanistrat, do not let me down!"

– Carburetor yelled at Kallistrat Ippolitovich's ear. Fragmented by compulsive persuasion Navalyaev and Signor Toldo poured a poison called "moonshine." But this, as the sophisticated reader understands, was not at all "end", but was only the "beginning" of the celebration.

–

– There is a statement – "There is nothing more terrible and exhausting than waiting and catching up." And perhaps this is not something that we should unreservedly agree with. But, at the same time, Amalia Appolinarevna fully confirmed her fatigue, this simple view. She fell asleep right by the phone, wrapped in a shawl beaten by a mole, by the way, than untied her hands to her son, who was drunk in the garages of the Barvinok cooperative. But neither the intoxication of the son, nor the drowsiness of the mother, failed to prevent the search for Icelandic moss, growing like a snowball.

– – Alie, is this Finland? Is this Moisha Tilman?

– "No Slom, it's not him." This has long been Mikko Tilmanen.

– – Do not be so joking, your nose I'll see even because of this line, otgo Mannerheim. Tell me more sho you whitefin?

– – Not whitefinch, but in our Valkoiset [3]. And I'm not one of them, but I smell the parchment Punikki for 100 versts. – Well, and how Mika, you have it from Helsinki?

– – Tolerant.

– – And this is how?

– "It's okay, it's full but cold."

– "And how intolerant is tada?"

– – It's like their red Petrozavodsk – it's cold, hungry, and also crap.

– – And what about the Finns?

– "What about the Finns?" Finns, like me, are too measured people. Until they decide to go to Oslo, I'm already halfway there, near Stockholm.

– – No. I ask did they give you a passport?

– – And then, how! On my brownish little book it is clearly written – Suomi.

– "So you're a real Finn."

– That! With a slide! It remains to Toko to start playing at the hockey.

– – Oh, hockey is scary, there can knock out a mustache teeth!

– – Tada give the hockey grandfather Solomon, him to take out the false jaw and he is a ready hockey player. And if you hold it for a couple of days without a laxative, it's just a beast!

– – I imagine! I think that against the grandfather of Solomon, without a laxative, even Canadians will not come out, with their Halls, Orrs and other Esposites.

– – So, that's understandable. A sho calling? Do you want to send me a soto to Santa Claus? From Helsinki to Lapland, to the lair of Joulupukki, only five months on reindeer. I can drive.

– – And can you drive Iceland?

– – Do not understand?

– -No, nothing personal, I just need Icelandic moss. The one that blooms and smells, Schaub he was healthy and buoyant luxuriant color!

–

– "Is that Liechtenstein?"

– – Yes.

– – That is Vaduz? Well, in the sense of the Principality?

– – Oh, I'm begging you! What is the principality there? Three rooms and two suites, though with a view of the mountains.

– "Wait, is this Liechtenstein?"

– – And outright is right. I am Arkady Moiseevich Liechtenstein. And Monya Vaduz, so you were interested, has long moved to Tel Aviv. And I still do not understand, do you need him or me?

– – Actually, mine needs Icelandic moss.

– – Alie, is this Vancouver?

– – Well, roughly speaking, yes.

– – A sho so?

– – Yes, no, it's nothing, it's just Calgary, and to Vancouver, by steps, by the side of the sea, for 90 days.

–

– – Alie, is this Liverpool?

– – In the morning was Liverpool.

– – So this is Grisha Katsnelson?

– "Well, how can I tell you?"

– – That's how it is.

– – Well, maybe nothing nizya excluded… although this mine Katz, recently, oh, how very tired.

– – Do not understand?

– – I prefer Shob I was called simply Nelson. Without any Katz. And even Grisha does not matter, the ray of Horace.

– "Horace Nelson?" So for this, my dear, you have to win the Battle of Trafalgar! And not at preference.

–

– – Alie, is this Africa?

– "If that's how you feel."

– "Mine does not like this at all." And sho it for your voice, if you fell a balcony on your head?

– – If only the balcony! For a long time, my best feelings, this is kada, I take a laxative together with sleeping pills. In the morning, of course, a lot of washing, but I feel like a young cheetah.

– – You know, I still do not think sho on the streets of Cape Town you will be allowed to travel at a speed of 120 kilometers per hour. Especially since I heard that there is a more effective way for an African to get rid of constipation.

– – Anu, surprise me, very interesting?

– "Since you are in Africa, it would be salutary to see a rhino in the savanna, especially if you are alone with one and without a gun."

– "Without a gun?"

– "Well, do not be a rhinoceros!" Hocha in your case, the grenade launcher will not help either.

– – And sho?

– "Sho?!" Constipation as a hand will remove, right on the spot! By the way at the expense of health. I sho call, I still need Icelandic moss.

–

– – Alie, is this Luxembourg?

– – A sho is this?!

– "That's what I asked!"

– – No, the mine is accentuated, a little sooner Luxembourg?!!!

At the moment when the evening twilight fell on the garage cooperative, and the slumber of Sliva for one hour, as they were taken to the hospital with a head injury, the drunken inhabitants of the glorious 13th boxing, were divided into groups of interests. Pif, no longer able to get up from the stroller, cursed his material, in the most rude form of imperialist vultures, to whom he never and for no reason will give a single calculation of what he himself personally has done, as well as his fellow-workers by Soviet designers. Not for any money, under any circumstances! He waved a sheet of Whatman folded four times in front of the nose of Vittorio, Navalyaev, as well as Aftogen, for some reason caught, this evening, "on the other side of the barricade," in the team of the conventional adversary. Afonya and Nakhalyavushkin proved each other to the Granitolevich brothers, as well as to Carburetor, who constantly doubted about the secret of the crash that he had solved on March 27, 1968 and the death of Yuri Gagarin, the impossibility of the victory of their Fisher, our great chess genius Boris Spassky. Which, in fact, did not cause a single objection either from Valentin, from Dermantin, or even from the unyielding Kolyan. The heated debate around the chess game for the title of world champion, which soon surpassed the status of a legend, who reached the hearing of those who did not take part in the discussion, caused unprecedented emotions and interest from Pyth, Vittorio and Autogen. Only Navalyayev, remained unperturbed, indulging in contemplation of the incipient whirlwind of discussions.

Here, probably, it would be worth to remind the amiable reader some details of the outstanding event, called the match for the title of the world chess champion of 1972, between the then champion and the Soviet citizen Boris Vasilievich Spassky and the American challenger Robert James Fisher. (No wonder Vladimir Vysotsky devoted several songs to this fact.) Undoubtedly, this match was a challenge to the whole chess world, since since 1948 all champions were citizens of the Soviet Union: 6th Mikhail Botvinnik, 7th Vasily Smyslov, 8th Mikhail Tal, 9th Tehran Petrosyan and the 10th, mentioned by us, Boris Spassky. The match, in which the representatives of the USSR and the USA met at the height of the Cold War, was repeatedly called the "match of the century" in the Western press of that time. The prize fund of the match for the first time in the history of chess was $ 250,000! "Match of the Century" is indeed the most memorable chess event in history, as it was the personification of the confrontation of the USSR against the United States. This duel is associated with numerous scandals and intrigues, espionage games and interesting battles, both on the chess board and behind its side-chapels. What is only a quote from one of the Soviet officials, flashed in the press – "As an intellectual premature Fisher, who does not even have a secondary education, could have encroached on the property of the Soviet Union – the chess crown?!" Funny, is not it? It would be interesting to hear what the opinion of this gentleman was after Mr. Fisher won the crown. After all, it turns out that the half-hearted and insignificant Bobby Fisher managed to beat 23-times champion of the Soviet Union, winner of many international tournaments Mark Taimanov, as well as the 9th world champion, international grandmaster, honored master of sports of the USSR, candidate Philosophical sciences, four-time champion of the USSR, three-time champion of Moscow – Tigran Petrosyan.

– But how many do not roam about the guests, it's nice to go home, so let's go and we, back to our history. In a noisy booth, not to the smallest detail, perhaps, therefore, none of the immediate participants in the feast and raging discussion paid attention to the shadow growing on the threshold of the 13th garage.

– "What about Peugeot?" Peugeot, and sho…

– I heard Valery's usual statements-questions. Stooping figure, measuring an indifferent look stormily and noisily triumphant, went to the next box, where, on the "charge", there was a huge battery. With knowledge, Valerik twisted a black plastic pen on the charger, then, obviously, remaining satisfied with his actions, went to bed right next to the gate, on the torn awning from GAZik, embracing a furry guard, a garage dog named Kolbas. Sensing the feast, the huge male was slumbering between the gates of the 13th and 14th boxes, hoping for generous treats, which was not a curiosity for a dog that settled down in a place so corrupt as a garage cooperative.

– It was already light when, in the disorder reigning in the thirteenth box, a certain decrease in activity was noticed: old Pif fell asleep in his wheelchair, laying under his head a four-fold sheet of whatman; The brothers Granitolevich, like akin to the newborn, leaning on the welding machine, taking from two sides in the ring of Evpatiy, measured sniffles in the corner of the garage; Kolya the Carburetor went out into the air, causing his snoring sound to come from the open gate. Unlike many, Afonya and Nahalyavushkin kept quite staunchly. Sitting on canisters, with glasses in their hands, they, if I may say so, talked – incoherently, but categorically proving to each other something that has neither essence, meaning nor subject of discussion. Very drunk Navalyayev was about to crawl home, but Vittorio, asleep on his shoulder, and also suddenly speaking Autogen, clearly involuntarily violated his plans. Afinogen Artemievich Kutsenko, having drunk too much, suddenly became a philosopher, already a broken hour, telling Kallistrat that our hero could not understand anything.

– "Just think, Callistrato, they are like people." Solid "Buicks", sorry, always breaks off the language of sedition. This means, of course, our "ZIM", that is, GAZ-12 – a Soviet six-seater six-window long-base large sedan, mass produced at the Gorky Automobile Plant. By the way, for those who do not know, he is a plant named after Comrade Molotov.

– Navalyaev nodded dutifully.

– "Any crap, my friend, was produced here and there." Here's to take a proud and in something opel-captained "Victory", even in the recent past the flagship of Soviet engineering. Quite an Opel-Cadet "Muscovites", gorbatenkie "Fiato-Zaporozhtsy", and with a claim to the swagginess of the "Volga". All of them with their own destinies, stories and troubles. Some are exhausted by a multitude of taxi drivers, barbarians, changing behind the wheel and not sparing poor cars. Other sleek and beloved, well-groomed and from that sparkling with chrome, warm

Cozy garages. Think about it! Some for a year "ran" no more than 10 thousand, others "winded" half a million. How lucky…

At this moment Vittorio woke up.

– Oh, come mi sento male…

– I'm sorry, what?

– I say, my head is very sore. How do you drink this muck?! And why are not the sentences for the death penalty due to the use of this rubbish?

– So we have a mache shot.

Aftogen was indignant.

– Well, yes, the shooting is much more humane.

The Italian looked gloomily at the "battlefield", stopping his gaze on Navalyaev.

– And yet you have an amazingly beautiful hat.

– Oh, let me teach you. Now we'll do it together, and you'll have a memory.

– And regalo [4], for memory! After all, I have a gift for you.

While Vittorio was looking in his pockets, Navalyaev began to search for a suitable sheet of paper in order to teach the guest how to fold the caps like the one that crowned his crown. Not finding anything worthy of his attention, he reached for the sheet of Whatman that lay under the head of the old man Cardupa. The very one who peep shore is the apple of the eye. At that very moment, Vittorio found in his pocket gifts – a keychain company "FIAT", as well as a car air freshener with the smell of lemon, which usually clings in the salon to the rear-view mirror.

– It is for you…

He solemnly handed over a freshener to Aftogen, after which he presented the key chain to Callistratus Ippolitovich.

"Thank you, Comrade Vittorio…"

Naraylyaev said, accepting the gift gratefully.

– And now look and remember…

At this time, Aftogen, having unpacked the fragrant flavor, waved half a glass of moonshine, biting the cardboard with the smell of orange.

– Сiò che si fa [5]?! It's not allowed! This is not eaten!

– Oh really…

The motorist waved him away, scornfully masticating the cardboard.

"… and not such a snack."

The old man spat, pouring himself another.

"Your mandarins are shit…"

– … incredibile [6]…

Scrambling, as if swallowed ruff, whispered the Italian, looking in amazement at how Aftogen muffled the synthetic taste of lemon moonshine. Not without difficulties, his attention was able to attract Navalyayev, pulling at the sleeve of the astonished guest.

"Look at that…"

Kallistrat Ippolitovich, slowly glancing at the stunned Italian, folded from the paper a cocked hat, similar to his "pear".

"… that's it, ready." Hold it.

Vittorio nodded in confusion.

– grazie…

Catching the indecision of the guest, Navalyaev put on the cap on his head, while a deafening explosion was heard. Rokot from the explosion of the battery in the 14th box was so sonorous that it could cause a quite significant surge of emotions in awake and restful motorists. The first who reacted to the stunning rumble was the dog Sausage, who rushed fearlessly to the side of the gates of the cooperative. Whether it was heartbreaking rumblings, or from the oscillations of the floor, Afonya fell from his chair, falling on the Kolya-Carburettor that was dying next to him, which did not cause pleasure, either in one or in the other. As if hearing a song call – "Get up a huge country…" scared Cardupa jumped up, but rushed forward, stumbled over Kolyan, with the crash crashing down on the hammered Granitolevich brothers, who sat down the birthday boy. Somewhere out of the darkness grew the disheveled figure of Nahalyavyshkin, as if rising from the heat, from where he had drawn a rather unpleasant smell. All those who participated in the auto-banquet concentrated their gaze on the breach formed due to the explosion of the battery in the wall, which caused the brickwork to form the corner of the 13th, 14th, 8th and 7th garages, adjoining the back side to the dilapidated and mentioned Above the wall.

Having seen the impenetrable darkness of the unfurled womb of the neighboring boxes, the ghouls were seized by terror,

When out of the darkness of the 7th garage, as if from the underworld there came a heart-rending female cry. At the same moment, in the breach appeared the slim figure of Josephine, staring at the men with the look of the famous Medusa Gorgona.

– What hatched?!

The disheveled girl exclaimed.

"Have you ever seen a woman?!"

– About Madonna! How beautiful she is…

Vittorio whispered, peering at Lyuska's smeared face.

"The males have settled!"

She threw it at last, rushing to the exit.

After the first shock, the night revelers expected another surprise. Valerik Shmatovalenko appeared on the threshold of the garage. He looked at the stunned motorists somehow in a special way, after which he spoke quite distinctly.

– No shit to myself! This sho there is torn?

Pif and Afonya exchanged glances.

"Valerchik, what about Peugeot?"

– What the hell is Peugeot?! I'm almost deaf!

Valerik exclaimed, in an instant, escaping from the fetters of the minds of his mind, who were fools. The sequence of events that shocked everyone without exception, began to treat "like", for starters, pouring a stinking potion through the vessels.

"Well, brothers, do not disgrace!"

Has Cardinal blazed out either an appeal, or a wish, having overturned an aluminum mug, which allowed to pour into the pharynx one hundred and fifty moonshine. Quite grumbling, he slapped Vittorio on the shoulder.

– See Vityok, how we live! Not life, but marmalade with a solidol.

"Epifanio, tell me, who was that girl who fled out of the darkness?"

– What do you want?

– ABOUT! She's very beautiful! Molto bello [7]! I want to marry her.

"She's a slut, then."

Afonya gave a laugh. Piff sternly looked at his colleague, and so that he did not notice Vittorio, he shook his fist at him.

"What is a slut?"

The Italian asked.

"Shalava, how can I tell you…"

Piff stretched out, searching for a suitable answer in his drunken brain.

"… the slut is… the fisherman's daughter!" Well, that's how the shaland. Do you know shaland?

– OH! Chaland, chiatta, yes I know, it's a lot in my hometown of Livorno. There's a lot of chiatta, lots of fishermen.

– Yes, fishermen.

Sadly repeated Cardoup.

– So, the girl is a fisherman's daughter?!

"Yes, fisherman." Daughter.

The old man nodded. All present, as if on command they nodded their heads.

"Yes, yes, fisherman's daughter."

"What's her name?"

– Lyuska… well, that is Lyudmila…

"Epifanio, help me persuade her to marry me and move to Paris…"

At a time when motorists of the Barvinok cooperative cooperated and idol with them started to destroy the other half of the canister of stinking potions, the search for Icelandic moss did not cease for a minute.

"Alie, Rosalie Markovna?"

– Bena! You sho, crazy sbrendil?

"What's that?" We are already here noon.

– No, you saw such an idiot?! It's America! Saddny West, and you call like Hitler, at four in the morning! You sho Big Ben fell on your head?!

– Not yet. And why wi took?

– Yes, it sounded from there, from you, the weird guy went. I think it's only as Bene on bald head Big Ben fell.

– Oh, do not worry! That Ben as stood, and stands, hto him pozaritsya? It's just that the space ship's advice was launched from that Baikonur, so it clinked to you.

– Yes? It's strange, but it's like a big bang fell, he was healthy, like the Queen Mother, a thousand years and two more years.

– It's a yes. And how are you?

«We're not Windsor, we're slowly falling apart." Ray, do you want to speak? U have such a time.

– Oh, you know, I like Roland always go ahead.

– That talk already!

"Do you remember Sonia's sister-in-law, Auntie's sister-in-law, my sister's uncle Chaim's niece?"

"Did she marry Moldovan?"

– That's right.

"Do not I remember the shozh?" After their wedding, my Slom hiccuped for three days and could not go to the toilet, from that cursed port.

"I do not know where Schlema was at the toilet, but I also had heartburn."

– So and sho?

"And then they needed Icelandic moss."

"Did he live?"

– Hwo?

"Well, is that moss?"

– No, this is a plant. It grows, as it is not strange in Iceland, and is considered a moss.

– And what?

"What?" So it is nada. You were there at your Minnesota absolutely brain frostbitten!

– Quiet, quiet! At us here at "Dzhuyke" it is settled on ointments.

– So make a moss, and in us, too, will be asleep in the aura.

– Okay. Write down the number. You'll ask Walter Peter James McLeber, Mr. Bloomington, Sho's own grandson Lyova's grandfather from Igan, he sells used cars at South Dakota. He's still that Huron, he'll make it.

"Who, Gurod?"

"She's not a freak, but a huron!" Fenimore Cooper had to read in childhood, basotha.

– Oh, only do not scare me with your relatives!

"That one, already, sorcerer!" The Thames swallowed you.

"Alie, is this Walter Peter James McLeber, Mr. Bloomington?"

– If you're at the expense of that dopey Dodge, then call and compost the brains to your Colorado dealer. I explained to you sho I'm Toko intermediary.

– Alie, I still do not understand, is it vzhe South Dakota?

– And you hto?

"I'm from Rosa Markovna."

There was a pensive silence in the receiver.

– Mr. Walter Peter James McLeber?

– Ai throw, if you're from Aunt Rosa, you can just Edik.

– Well, well, let it be your way, Edik is so Edik.

– So sho in this regard?

"In this connection, Rosa Markovna said you can, you still have a good time."

– Well, not so shob very, but somewhere around this area.

– Tada mine needs Icelandic moss, it grows near the Güdlfoss waterfall.

– You know sho? It sounds like a threat.

"Edik, maybe it's a threat, but your hands have the life of a good man."

– Well, if I understood correctly, we first need to go to Iceland, to get to that waterfall, de grows otot moss.