Birds and a Stone. Anastasia Novykh

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СКАЧАТЬ with such frenzy as if it was guilty of all the troubles in Rebrov’s life. Having entered the building, he closed the door behind himself and returned to his office. The disgusting smell inside was now felt muted, but still disturbed his nose with its stuffiness which seemed to be the stuffiness of the law-enforcement system as a whole.

      Low snoring resounded in the duty room. Senior lieutenant Chmil opened one eye, examined the situation and fell asleep again. Major approached the peaceful, dozy “monkey house”. “H’m! Beggars, hypes... Same faces always. Ensuring statistics?! On these people? It’s so stupid... Everyone well understands this “civilization waste” is only a consequence of the surrounding mess, while the reason is in those who shamelessly produce such “waste”. And everybody keeps silent, trembling with fear. Where can we find justice in this country? And who really needs justice defenders now, when such terrible things are happening around? Feels like I was born not in my times...

      Life, life... Who invented it as it is? When you are young, you dream, plan something, but eventually you get something else which is completely unexpected, and you flounder inside it your entire life. Looking into it deeply, all this around is not mine. All my life, I worked here just because it turned out this way. Besides, I needed to support my family. I thought I would realize my literary dreams once my daughter graduated, and I could retire... And there you are – cirrhosis... It appears that life is already coming to its end. Yet, what have I had time to do out if the things my soul desired? Nothing. It would be foolish to think I still have time. Even if there’s time, it is only here and now. And it should be used rationally, without losing a single chance, a single precious moment of life.

      Who knows why I was born in the Earth at all... To assure continuation of my kin? But a child grows up in some eighteen years. What’s next? Grandchildren, the old age... Everything moves in a constant wild flow of looking after posterity, just like any animal has. Then what distinguishes a human from that animal? It is an ability to think? But what should one think about? About how to set a dwelling, to procreate children, to raise and support them? It turns out a human being differs from an animal only by the fact that it does everything instinctively, while he does same things deliberately? Judging from life, it does turn out like this. Yet, why does inside one want something greater, something exceeding the bounds of this exclusive circle drawn for ages? Yes, posterity is splendid. But you are born alone, you stew in the pot of your life almost on your own as well (because your family can be some external incentive and support for your personal life program), and finally you die alone, experiencing this event solely on your personal inner level. For, at bottom, no one knows either your thoughts, or your true feelings, or your real life with all “video” and “audio” reflections of the reality pictures inside your brain. Then why does nature need to accumulate such inner information, i.e. human thoughts? After all, not a single living thing except oneself needs it. What hides in the depth of this mystery of nature? If you spent eighteen years raising children (and at times you don’t understand whom you have brought up, for some of their thoughts and deeds remain an undiscovered secret for you), then for “nurturing” or for, better to say, “accumulation” of your inner fortune you spent your entire conscious life since the early childhood and until your last day on the Earth. So, what is the sense? Why are we given all these stages of difficulties and sufferings? Why the transient youth favours you with such instants of inner happiness for which you then long the rest of your days? What is the true basis of human existence? Who am I eventually? Am I just a body? Definitely, I’m not. Why does this sack bones and liquid move, thanks only to my will power? My will power? And who am I then, if I think regardless of the body pain? What is pain at all? Who am I?!»

      Rebrov even winced of such new thoughts, having swept over him suddenly and touched the very depth of his heart. He slightly shook his head. Something unusual was happening to him this night, which had never come about before. His consciousness was accustomed to answer questions through logical, irrefragable reasoning. And now he was asking himself questions so simple at first sight, but yet incredibly intricate and broaching something deeply personal, such that his mind with its customary militia officer’s logic was nearly exploding of the overstrain of searching answers. Rebrov shook his head slightly again, fondly expecting to get rid of these thoughts in such a way. However, they did not disappear and only intensified their attack, in eager rivalry grappling with his usual somber thoughts of the daily routine. At that, his body continued to signal painfully of the serious defects inside of it. A next telephone call at 3 a.m. caught Major in such a terrible condition. Rebrov lifted the receiver and automatically responded with a tired voice, “Major Rebrov, officer on duty, fifteenth department...”

      A female voice started to chatter on the other side of the line. There was a habitual event – a drunken brawl. Somebody’s prolonged birthday party which included excessive doses of alcohol has turned a private apartment into a boxing ring. And “the heart-to-heart talk” has resulted in bloodshed... Rebrov connected to the operations group on duty through an internal telephone line. After a while, captain Onishchenko entered the room, looking half-asleep.

      “Well, who else has broken his madcap in crapulent and hungry state at 3 a.m.?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

      “Look,” Rebrov pointed to the journal.

      Captain glanced over the latest notation.

      “Not bad! We have to go to the very other side of the district! Eh, our hard lot...”

      Onishchenko looked at Chmil sleeping with his face under the newspaper, smiled and softly sneaked up to him closer.

      “Squadron, stand up! Senior lieutenant Chmil, two duties out of turn!” he commanded loudly.

      Sleepy Chmil sprang up in the stand of attention instinctively, having dropped the only intact chair and accidentally pushed down an ashtray full of cigarette stubs. But he came to his senses right away. Sergeant Kostushkin jumped up frightened together with him.

      “Damn, Onishchenko! You’ll make me childless once,” Chmil grumbled with displeasure.

      “Why childless?” Captain wondered laughing.

      “Why, why...” Chmil mimicked him. “Because... Do you know how one’s mind is affected by...”

      “А-а-аh..,” Onishchenko drawled and then added, “Well, “authority loses its appeal without abuse”. These are your words, aren’t they?”

      “Well, yeah, it’s called ‘even a storyteller dozes off without urging forward’.”

      It became somewhat livelier in the duty subdivision. While Onishchenko was talking with Chmil, two more operations officers and a driver came.

      “All right, we are going,” Captain uttered leaving the duty room.

      “Good luck,” Rebrov replied.

      After the operations group had left, Chmil wandered around the room, like a bear awaken in the middle of its winter hibernation. Kicking the chair wreckage, he muttered, “This Onishchenko... is like a dog in the manger. He’s interrupted the dream at such a passage, reptile...”

      “Sit down to the control desk, and I’ll make coffee,” Rebrov said, staring at the senior lieutenant.

      Chmil gave up his “occupation” and heavily seated himself on the chair, looking around for somebody to vent his bad mood upon. Rebrov was obviously not suitable for this purpose. He was of senior rank, and furthermore he was a good man always conducting himself humanly, unlike that Onishchenko. Chmil glanced over the room. “Maybe, I’ll drop into the ‘monkey house’,” he thought, having rested his gaze at the cell. But suddenly Kostushkin entered the room, having returned from the lavatory. And Chmil chose an ideal target for letting the “steam” out on. He made a stern face and, profiting by the fact Rebrov was in the other room, articulated СКАЧАТЬ