iot
PROLOGUE
Any endeavor that a person starts, usually ends either in success or failure – because this is how the world works and nothing will change – until the Dnieper dries up.
But if in the first case, when a person manages to cope with what he has conceived, the individual goes publicly, for each occasion, to sound about his genius, victory and success, explaining in details to everyone he meets who is not at all interested in the details of the triumphant, In the person of the narrator, to Olympus. In the second variant, when the same person suffers a fiasco, he invariably tries, avoiding publicity and any explanations, to find the perpetrators of failure, in every possible way trying to lose responsibility for failure. He does not find a place until he comes up with a story that he tells others, whenever it comes to what is so unpleasant for a blundered individual. People are cunning, greedy, unfair, cruel and this, you will agree, is not a complete palette of human vices. In everyone sits, if not a fire-breathing dragon abounding in all these far from the best qualities, then a goggle-eyed creature whose like the above sins are in an embryonic state, ready to germinate at any moment in the blink of an eye, appearing in all its abomination. A person is egotistical, selfish, prone to pathos and hedonism.
Many of the readers, of course, will be surprised and will not want to agree with us. With what we will not argue, just noticing to the dear reader, that we ourselves treat the above theory with considerable suspicion. And the best confirmation of this are the stories we recorded, about a man who, by his existence, does not allow idle rancors, like us, to assert something similar to the above. However, you, dear reader, if you want to delve into the essence of this narrative, there will be a great opportunity to see this personally and to the fullest.
Chapter 1
"DATE"
Once upon a time, even a little earlier than last Friday, there was a great country that existed in the era of developed socialism. Although not, it is rather huge, because greatness and magnitude, often quite different concepts, therefore the country was simply huge. This huge "Great Country" was also called very peculiarly, proudly and cheerfully – the USSR. Proudly, because the inhabitants of the country called it with admiration, threateningly ringing and clinking their tongues, as if minting jubilee rubles – eS ES ES ER.But the threat of confusion, involuntarily debunked the children growing up in the "Great Country", teasing her – Se Se Se Re. Well, of course, mindless foreigners whistling in their own way and manner – C C P. And so, this country, like many other countries, had its own government, and the government had its own people, as well as a flag, a coat of arms, a hymn and everything else that could be found and fetched in the vastness of the "Great Country". Under these conditions, hand in hand, the government, along with the people, stamped ahead, as it seemed, towards a great goal-communism!
But the Bible says – "leave them: they are blind leaders of the blind; And if the blind lead the blind, then both will fall into the pit. " (Matthew 15:14)That once again reminded, persuaded and proved, to those who did not try, that the way to communism was uneasy and inconclusive. That once again reminded, persuaded and proved, to those who did not try, that the way to communism was uneasy and inconclusive. And how could be oterwise It is always difficult to go toward something that does not exist. After all, a mirage is unattainable, and the path to it is tedious and vain, like aspirations to the horizon line or the efforts of the restless Sisyphus.
Exectly in this country and at that time the one whom we would like to tell our gracious reader about,could live.
The one that, thanks to whom we will be able to uncover a chain of accidents, starting and ending on our hero – citizen and comrade Navalyaev.
In one of the sunny, spring days, from the front entrance of house number 17, along Stepan Khalturin Street, (for some ridiculous accident called by the name of a revolutionary, a Narodnik terrorist who didn't have slightest relationship with either Kiev or the former Pankovskaya street,) came out man.His appearance was quite unremarkable, at first glance, if one did not look at it in more detail, the more it was not to get to know him better. Kallistratu Ippolitovich Navalyaev, the junior accountant in the most exemplary Housing Management Office in the Leninsky district of the city of Kiev, in autumn, October 23, turned thirty-four, that very day, stained with the blood of the Hungarian Revolution, valiantly crushed by Soviet tanks.At this age, men are said – "in full bloom", but not forces, not, especially, their heyday, Comrade Navalyaev was not observed.Low growth; With a tummy, hanging like a "backpack", under a flabby, swollen, fat breasts; With narrow, not seeing even a sparing morning charge of his shoulders, his not a slender silhouette, looked much older, the passport data of Kallistratus Ippolitovich.
All this luxury mentioned above was piled up on short, plump legs, very suitable for walking, and not at all designed for running.Stooping, marked by an old scoliosis, a torso, the head of Comrade Navalyaev, who had long begun to grow bald, was crowned, how light, so little suitable for life.The protruding, fleshy ears only emphasized the harmony of the skull, this at least strange man, or as he was called at work – a "defective connoisseur."The Suite on Callistratus Ippolitovich, also did not differ anything remarkable, except in a rather old-fashioned cut and not matching our hero size.In other words, he was catastrophically old and hopelessly small, for a very simple reason – the deceased dad of junior accountant, Navalyaev-father, wore things extremely neatly and was much lower than the growth of Navalyaev-son, which, in our opinion, fully explains the mismatch of the dress With the content."But it's not a Suit that colors a person, but the content of a saving accounts", "Besides, a chic suit, it's an English wool, we custome made it for your dad on the day of defense of the thesis, which later, caused a bad mood, and That's why Hippolytus Albertovich rarely wear it… "These simple truths, Navalyaeva-mother loved to repeat, tremblingly smoothing on her son the folds of memories.
A double-breasted disgrace, incomprehensible and of little pleasant color, was an outrage committed by a completely mediocre tailor, who managed not only to emphasize the unfortunate figure of Navalyaev-father, but also extend this curse to a tangible son.
So, the buttoned up jacket, did not hide the buttons of the gulf, defiantly visible between the floor, but not carrying, nor the semantic load of the external threat. The trousers, narrowed, rather wide trousers, did not touch the toes of the shoes, not reaching for them, about ten centimeters, as if to demonstrate the simple pattern of synthetic orange-blue socks. Looking at the trousers, I wanted to remove excess fabric from my hips and to grind it with my trousers, but it all disappeared without a trace, it simply lost all sense after I met the quite outstanding owner of this dilapidated dress.
There was not such a good-natured, modest and innocuous nature in the whole complex that ensures the functioning of the engineering infrastructure of various buildings in the city of Kiev, as well as creating convenience and comfort for citizens living in them, by providing them with a wide range of services. Or in other words, with the words of the immediate leader Navalyaeva, deputy. The head of the housing management office, the fictitious housing and communal services, Zinaida Potapovna Neyeshkashi, – "There is no other such fool in the housing and communal services like our Kallistratus"
Once on the street, the junior accountant squinted at the sun's rays, stretching his lips in an indescribable silly smile, lifting his puffy, carefully shaven cheeks to his small round eyes. Holding his old shabby briefcase under his arm, he pointedly adjusted his tie kis-kis, bright purple to white peas, put on a felt hat and headed up the street, to the roar of a tram of eight running from the mountain, along Leo Tolstoy to "Solominka", along The fence of the Botanical Garden. Turning to Nikolsko-Botanicheskuyu, our hero soon reached the street Tarasovskaya, where in the ninth room, in a majestic house, standing, to this day in a gloomy desolation, built in the form of a well, with two arches, his uncle lived, on the maternal line – Radion Apollinarevich Navozov-Sukhoplotsky.
Rushing uphill, he passed the seventh number, behind the iron gate of which was based "strange" military
