style="font-size:15px;"> The gate abruptly hit the fence, caught unexpectedly by a gust of the wind, twisted, and sank heavily, resting its lower corner on the ground. The old man sighed heavily and shook his head helplessly. He would have fixed it, ‘God damn it’. Thank God, he was still able to hold a hammer and would not hit past the nail. But it was not about his hands. He needed construction material. He needed to get new hinges and, most importantly, to replace the columns, which eventually had turned into dust. But buying the necessary things was an acute problem. He did not have enough available funds. Living on a pension, he could not afford himself much. He had to choose: ‘to leave things as they were’ but to eat well, or to buy lumber but to stay hungry. At his age, the choice was obvious. He smiled, but the smile turned to be sad. During the war, when he was a child, he went through the hunger, and today he did not want to experience that feeling again. A pensioner – a person living in poverty. Certainly, if you were not a deputy or an underground millionaire. Pension is a wake-up call for a ‘citizen’ that his/her time went out, the state ‘expelled’ him/her to the well-deserved rest. In plain language, the state got rid of the citizen, throwing him/her to the backyards of the society, having solemnly paid the last ‘well-deserved monthly payment’ in the amount of the minimum subsistence level. And the person could live at his/her leisure. But the leisure could fit in the amount of some coins, less than a rouble. Overseas, pensioners enjoyed life, travelled, rested by the seas, and here people were only fighting for their lives, surviving on bread and water. But he did not complain about his fate. It was somewhat tragic but happy. That was a shame that the state rated so low his long-term work and health ruined for the prosperity of the country. Today, paradoxically, he was ‘not exactly a beggar’. ‘Not exactly’ because he had a house and a loaf of bread, so he should be proud of his poverty. And the loud statements of politicians that the pension increased by three per cent were very annoying. It was enough to make a cat laugh. Well, they added three kopecks to three rubbles, but that did not make life easier. One needed to save many kopecks to a full rouble. For years. And the products cost over a hundred. So, one kopeck was the most useless thing at the present time. Yes, he was retired. For a long time. Since the forestry stopped its work. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, it was replaced by the CIS, but it did not function for a long time. Nobody wanted to share the stolen property, and it was better to be a king of one’s own state than a noble vassal of a wealthy lord. So, Russia remained in bitter loneliness, presenting a tempting ‘sweet cake’. What a great scale for enrichment! Here the local elite began to act. It began plundering the national economy. Its appetite grew, and the number of places, where one could ‘reap’ the benefit, became less. Russia turned to be not such a big country, and its wealth was not that never-ending. And then the greedy eyes turned to the people: ‘to get even a flock of fur from a outbred dog’. Nothing personal. Just business. And all hell broke loose. The idea of privatization was accepted ‘as smooth as silk’. ‘Without a hitch’. They took away everything from people, leaving without the last shirt, but with a voucher. The authorities implied that the owner of the ‘precious papers’ was almost the owner of the business, where he/she was working. There were assuring that a person, as a shareholder, was entitled to solve any problem of his production. A person did not even need to work but to live on the income from the interest. One could sit in front of the TV on the couch and get the dividends. People got the wings, not realizing that the wings were ghostly. They could not fly. ‘The first step was the hardest’. Six months without a pay check… and the vouchers were sold for a song to those, who had arranged this whole monetary collapse. To senior management. People tried to rebel, but the authorities quickly pacified them, clearly demonstrating the dissatisfied ones, as in the couple: with ‘bird cherry tree’ and a rubber bludgeon, professionally interacting police arbitrariness. And those, who did not get everything from the first time, the judicial system began its work, grinding out its fifteen-day verdicts. The slogan ‘Russia for the rich’ flourished. And these ‘celestial beings’ indulged in every pleasure. Respectable mansions. Luxurious yachts. Fashionable apartments. Exclusive cars. Platinum chains. Diamond necklaces. Sable fur coats. The avid elite gathered into the predatory pack, obsessed with greed for gain. And they began to ‘rule’. They were spitting ‘from a high bell tower’ on the illegality of their criminal deals, which gave them millions in profits. They were flouting the law. Wolves in human appearance sort of enraged, trying to outdo each other. In luxury and intrigues. They were ‘generously’ inculcating ‘the former workers and farmers’ with progressive western values.
And for some of them, under the triumphant howling of trumpets, the century of ‘the golden calf’ began, but the country dipped into darkness.
It was democratic Russia, where there was no place for the common people. Actually, some place was chosen, though, far from prosperity. Like for dogs, their independence was indicated by the size of the aviary. And to be on the safe side, they would be chained. It would even stop them from thoughts of escape. And a dog was sitting on the chain, absurdly wasting time. There was the desire for freedom, but there was no enough strength. The chain was made of a robust metal, the rings were thick and forged. The collar was not simple, but the timber-hitch with sharp spikes. The links strained but did not tear. The dog went round in circles, pulled the chain, made sure of its strength, hopelessly lied down, and closed the eyes humbly. And there were a bowl of slops for the dog not to die of starvation and a whip, in case if the animal would go mad and try to attack the master. And so people lived. Different strokes for different folks.
– I am too grumbling today, – the old man said mockingly, enjoying stretching his legs. – Looks like I am getting old.
He threw his head, exposing his face to the warm night breeze, somewhat blindly considering the low starry sky. His look froze mechanically on the Big Dipper, then moved to the Little Dipper. Absently looking at these constellations, he felt how painfully his heart sank, and tears flowed from his eyes, a flood of memories about the tragedy of the past years echoed with mental anguish. He was instantly transferred to the past.
Chapter 1
The sloping edge, lurking in the depths of a virgin forest, covered with fern and blueberry bushes, seemed to just emerge from the Russian folk tale, and if one went deep into the midwood, one would suddenly stumble on a lopsided wooden hut of Baba Yaga on the chicken legs. People said about such places that leshy would break a leg, as there was a solid windbreak. In the depth of taiga, there were few things that reminded of the presence of civilised people. Only occasionally, one could hear the roar of jet engines, coming from the sky, and the heavy crackle of rotating propellers of the flying helicopters with hunters. And the rest remained unchanged as many centuries ago. This was the domain of Mother Nature with its own rules and laws.
Wet ground hovered, absorbing the warmth established by the weather. But even the ubiquitous sunny spring rays could not break through the thick veil of centenary giants, whose dense branching crowns propped up the firmament. Hiding in the twilight shadows and being inaccessible to the ravage of the sun, there were the pitiful remnants of the passing winter – grey slush. But spring was taking its toll. From day to day, the sun was burning harder and harder and the air was making people drunk with the intoxicating aroma of the vegetation, waking up from hibernation. Taiga was waking up. On the blue sky, the snow-white flocks of swirling clouds slowly floated, lazily driven by the light spring breeze. They were reflected on the rough surface of the mountain river, like ghostly shadows. The young osier-bed, which was close to the river, enthusiastically began to make a noise. Playful breeze fell upon flexible branches as if trying to flirt with tiny green leaves hatched out of swollen buds. In the grass, whose sharp-pointed shoots triumphantly made their way from the heated soil, grasshopper excitedly chattered, rejoicing at the arrival of early spring. The shrill chorus of ubiquitous flies echoed him, having settled on the bright blossoming buds of spring flowers that emitted a fragrant aroma. All the valley, adjacent to the river, resembled a procumbent orange carpet, woven from Siberian globeflowers – the first flowers of taiga. As soon as the first snow melted, Siberian globeflowers, caressed by the warmth of the sun, jumped out of the ground, happily spreading lush buds. The forest was delightfully ringing, getting rid of hibernation, filled with happiness and life.
Suddenly,
