Creatures of the night. Viktoria Koshkina

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СКАЧАТЬ a little table at a window, near a main entrance I caught sight of one bearded little man. He sits in the place as if it – his own and personal. The drunken man in proud loneliness finishes drinking the remained two drinks of beer from the mug. Look its sad, lonely; and it seems, that he simply wants to sleep.

      I returned to a bar counter, and asked the acquaintance already to me bartender to fill one and a half liter mug with beer.

      – Hold, leave the rest to yourself. – I put one thousand rubles in front of the bartender, and having taken beer went to the man with a gray-haired beard.

      I sat down to him at a little table, having put in front of the alcoholic’s nose a glass with amber liquid. He has being stared at me with drunk eyes, then at the bubbles in the favourite drink going from a bottom to top. I sat down at a little table, opposite to the man.

      – Who are you? – having transferred an amazed look to me, he asked with the braided speech.

      On the head of the drunk man the small spotty hat with round fields rises, and the mouth is completely hidden behind the gray-haired beard which extended to a breast. His small eyes and the extended aquiline nose are in harmony with other features, including with an amusing beard which gives to the owner similarity with the children’s New Year’s hero Father Frost.

      – I am the one who wants to talk to you.

      – And about what, lovely person? – the drunk man interrogatively began to blink.

      – Now you’ll learn, – I began.

      – How to call you?

      – Nikolay.

      – Me, Valentin Mikhaylovich.

      – So we got acquainted, we will get down to business, – I slightly irritably uttered. – You know Sergey Sokolov?

      – And who doesn’t know him…, – my present interlocutor exhaled, a loving look having taken of a mug with beer. He put his hands in front of himself, and asked a silly question – is to me?

      I silently nodded.

      – Thanks, – having told it, the man grabbed a glass and began to devastate it.

      – How I understood, you know Sergey Sokolov that is, you will be able to tell something about him?!

      – How can I not know everything about the best friend, – having come off beer he told and with knock put on a little table surface a thin glass.

      – Tell me, has he got children?

      – Children… yeah, the daughter, little.

      – And the wife – the child’s mother?

      – It is an old story, – the man frowned a little, – it came to a bad end. In confidence I will tell, Seregi in general has no children, at least, he told me so, – he added having held up a palm vertically to a mouth corner.

      – And…

      – And… I don’t know, why to you to know everything about Sokolov.

      – It is possible to repeat, – I made the corresponding gesture, having asked the bartender to bring a new portion of beer.

      In twenty seconds the bartender obligingly presented a fresh glass of beer to our little table. It seemed to me that the person with whom at present I conduct dialogue, considered insufficient that “gift” that I presented to him on arrival for his little table. That glass of beer it appeared little, and I simply had to order another from an urgent need. Amazingly!

      – Is it to me? – the man asked modestly.

      – Like you don’t know! – I grinned.

      Having understood what I want, my interlocutor began to spread obediently a tragic story. Having listened to it, I learned the sea of the interesting facts. It appeared that Sergey Sokolov’s daughter not his native. It wasn’t secret. The matter is that the child’s mother, young eighteen-year-old Darya was disgraced by some guy. When Sergey learned about it, found the bastard and punished, but made it accidentally. Court recognized murder on imprudence and sentenced him for five years. When Sokolov was released, Dasha wasn’t alive any more. After violation she became pregnant. It appeared that having given birth to the child, Dasha couldn’t reconcile to that fate which she had to test and committed suicide, having jumped off from the fifth floor. This height was enough that from the young woman there was a big red spot on asphalt. The child’s grandmother on the fatherly line became the trustee of the newborn girl. After releasing from imprisonment places, Sokolov didn’t hurry to take part in education of the girl, or at least to help the mother with it. Instead the man began to drink much. He took out all valuable things from the house. So to speak, he filled with alcohol the immortal grief. Dasha was Sergey’s love, and he loved her very much. He told the friend Valentin more than once about the dreams in which he is visited by dear Dashenka and she calls him with herself.

      – And after all, the little girl was young, only eighteen years, – Valentin Mikhaylovich added, having sent a thoughtful look to a floor.

      – Were they married?

      – Yes, they were. Sokolov was older than the Dashka for ten years. But it’s said, all age are obedient to love.

      Later half a year, after Sokolov’s release, his mother got a heart attack which was promoted diligently a grief by the killed sonny, the ungrateful egoist. As a result, the girl lost her grandmother who died directly at home as there was nobody to call an ambulance. The five-year-old child was sent to orphanage. For that time Sokolov was already deprived of the parental rights. And everything ended with that the little girl wasn’t necessary to the only remained native person, on the earth. What to speak, in the world didn’t remain the person whom the child in general somehow interested.

      – In which orphanage the girl is?

      – I have no concept, – Valentin Mikhaylovich shrugged shoulders. – She was taken away more than three years ago, just when the grandma died.

      Looking at the interlocutor, I feel hostility and even hatred to him and to the girl’s father. This indifference, this self-love simply enraged. It is simple to these fiddleheaded alcoholics to spit on all except themselves. But that is already not present in live, he was responsible for the behavior. Now I am not sorry for killing Sokolov Sergey. And that pendent that he so carefully stored, now doesn’t say about anything to me unless how he grieved for the suicide-wife and he dreamed of death.

      – Guy, beer ended, – Valentin told and carefree smiled. – Listen, I can tell Sokolov’s address.

      The man got the grown old rumpled tram ticket from a breast pocket.

      – Is anybody has a pen? – he asked loudly to the visitors of bar. And right there the simple pencil ground to the small sizes departed to its party and fell to it under feet. – Thanks, friends.

      Valentin Mikhaylovich lifted a pencil from a floor and scratched something on the ticket. After, I stretched it to me. I didn’t manage to read note contents СКАЧАТЬ