Darina. Love story. Viktoria Polileeva

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      Finally I caught a spark of interest in her eyes.

      “Aha, I got caught, as if such a pike did not break!”

      And, when we went out for a walk in the evening, I was silent, like a block, afraid to spoil the impression.

      In those days, Darina fell from morning to night in the institute, and I circled around, hoping that she would call, and I will appear at the first call of the beloved. Love tightly and efficiently twisted its nuts. I was only thinking about Daryn. The face of the Rada sometimes came up from the mist of my soul and immediately disappeared. I guess I’m crazy.

      The idea that love can be fierce, unreciprocal, tearing apart the heart, made a frenzy. But hope had such a gentle, affectionate voice!

      So I spent days in torments and dreams, forgetting about everything.

      The deeds demanded my presence. I did go to the meeting with the guys to solve all the problems as quickly as possible and return.

      We were lucky, a large lot of excellent goods came unhindered.

      The guys were happy. "– Oh, do not wake me up early tomorrow, romala!”

      – Let’s go to revel!

      I (constantly peeking into the phone, – whether there is a SMS-ok from Darina, did not miss her call), refused flatly.

      “Shall I give you a truck?”

      – Take me to Khimki, and go where you want.

      I left in Khimki, leaving the guys. Their cheerful faces leaned out of the windows.

      Friends looked after me, shaking their heads – Ay-ya-ya-ya-ya, va-ah-aa, ay-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya!

      – Then wash the machine. After you…

      – Oh, eh-uh-uh-yo-yo!

      But that evening she did not call. We have not met for several days. And I sat, as if lost, in a smoke-filled hotel room, not noticing either the day or the night and waited.

      At the weekend, she still jumped in my car, straightened her skirt on her knees, and said slowly, mockingly: “Well, go, drive the horses.”

      We rode country roads, which gave us warmed-up dust. Outside the window flashed fields, from them so powerfully smelled a new life, that I often wanted

      Stop the car and kiss your loved one with all the passion, but I kept myself.

      Can you imagine what it cost me.

      In the restaurant of my brother, where we came with my beloved, old Rachel sang. Did not sing, but exhaled, in the old manner, without emotion. But from simple songs of a gray-haired gypsy, goose bumps ran down his back and tweaked his eyes. My darling was flushed with drunk champagne, from the harmony of the strings of her soul with the melody.

      Russians like gypsy songs. And I do not know a Russian who, at the first sounds of our sad violin, would not shrug his shoulders, did not dare, and would not wave a rifle or two: “And, to drink, so to drink! Let my business burn with a blue flame.”