11 in golyavkin bean and elephant. Online reading of the book Elephant A

BOB'S NIGHTMARE One of the founders of AA. Our society's birthday is June 10, 1935, its first day of permanent sobriety. Before his death in 1950, he was able to spread the message of A.A. to more than 5,000 men and women suffering from alcoholism, and to all of them he

WHAT WAR WITHOUT BOB HOPE

WHAT WAR WITHOUT BOB HOPE - Mr. Bob Hope? This is Secretary of State Alexander Haig. - Hello, Al! Bob is on the phone. - I'm sorry to disturb you, Bob, but I would be glad if you would agree to go to El Salvador to entertain our guys at Christmas

Elephant in ballet Elephant in ballet Minister Livanov as a sponsor of social protest Igor Peunov 16.01.2013

The old castle in Abo is one of the oldest buildings in Finland. Once King Johan III, being the Duke of Finland, together with his Polish wife, Katharina Jagiellonica, held court here, and King Eric XIV was also imprisoned here.

For many years, prisoners languished in the dungeon of the castle. It now houses an excellent historical museum. Once upon a time there lived an old - seven hundred years old - brownie. And his beard was so long that he could wrap it around his waist twice. He was bent all over with age, like an ancient steel bow stretched to the breaking point. The brownie often boasted that he was the oldest brownie in the whole country. And even the brownie from the cathedral, who was only five hundred and fifty years old, called him uncle. All other small brownies in Finland considered him the head of the clan: he was a good brownie, extremely honest, efficient, although he also had his weaknesses. He lived in the deepest dungeon of the Abo castle, in the so-called Hollow Tower. There, in ancient times, the most inveterate and dangerous criminals were kept, who were never destined to see the white light again. The “apartments” of the brownie in the Hollow Tower, equipped with all possible amenities, amazed with their luxury. There was no shortage of rubbish heaps, shattered jugs, tattered matting, mismatched boots and gloves, broken toys, sashes without glass, tubs and vats without bottoms, rat-eaten books without bindings, and much more, absolutely indescribable magnificent garbage. The tower was meticulously draped in a web of the most exquisite patterns and dotted with small puddles that had been constantly replenished with water for hundreds of years.
In this comfortable dwelling, the brownie lived so well that he rarely looked for society outside the house - especially since the old brownie-priest from the dungeon did not put other brownies in general and did not consider them worthy of any attention.
“Everything in the world is now shredded,” he said. “The brownies are good now only for building pavilions in the gardens and patching children's toys, cleaning boots and sweeping the floor. People despise them and do not even honor them with a treat - a bowl of porridge on Christmas Eve. You should have looked at the old people - brownies in my time! We moved rocks and built towers.
The old brownie had only two long-time friends whom he complained about: the brownie from the cathedral and the old porter from the castle, Matts Mursten. He visited the brownie from the cathedral once every twenty years, and in exactly the same way, once every twenty years, the brownie from the cathedral visited the old brownie from the castle. They had the shortest way to each other through the famous underground passage between the castle and the cathedral, a passage that all the inhabitants of Abo tell about, although none of them have seen it. It was not at all difficult for the brownies to sneak through the cramped passage, after all, they could crawl through the keyhole. Much worse was the case with human beings. Gatekeeper Matts Mursten knew this better than anyone, because he was the only person who managed to crawl through this passage. And it was then that he first met the old brownie from Abo Castle.
Matts Moorsten was at that time a nimble and carefree little boy of twelve. He was looking for old musket bullets among the ancient rubbish in the dungeon of the castle, when one morning he discovered a hole in the underground passage. So he decided to find out where this hole could lead.
He had advanced quite far when the rocks behind him collapsed and blocked his way back. This did not sadden Matts in the least; because somewhere he, surely, will be able to get out of the underground passage! But it so happened that the stones collapsed in front of him. Matts was trapped, neither forward nor backward. So he would probably have sat, nailed to this place, to this day, if all this had not happened on the very day when the brownies from the castle and the cathedral used to visit each other once every twenty years. The brownie from the castle was walking just in time for the brownie from the cathedral and suddenly saw a little boy who was stuck in a pile of garbage, like a fox in a trap!
And the brownie's heart trembled: although the brownies are terribly touchy, they are kind-hearted.
— What are you doing here? he growled at Matts.
"Looking for old bullets," said Matts, trembling.
The brownie laughed.
“Hold on tight to the top of my boot,” he said, “and I will help you get out of here.”
Matts reached out his hand, felt in the darkness for the top of the goblin's boot, and gripped it tighter. They quickly moved forward, deftly making their way between stones and rubble, and then the brownie said:
"Get out through that hole!"
Matts, still not seeing anything, grabbed hold of the working manhole, which was rising up, and soon found himself in the high choirs of the cathedral, where the bishop was standing in full vestments, about to conduct the service.
“Look at him,” said the bishop. “And what did you want in the wine cellar of the cathedral?”
Matts thought that the bishop was hardly more dangerous than the old brownie, and answered frankly that he was looking for musket balls. The Bishop felt that he, dressed in such festive clothes, was not befitting to laugh. And only pointed to the boy with his finger at the back door. Matts quickly moved away.
From that day on, a kind of friendship developed between Matts Murstetn and the old brownie from Åbo Castle. Matts did not see him, for the old brownie most often went about in his gray jacket and black lambskin cap, which, turned inside out, made the brownie invisible. It amused the brownie to help - this is the custom of the brownies - to the prosperity of Matts in this world. And the boy, indeed, everything went surprisingly well.
When Matts Moorsten was thirty years old, he became a gatekeeper at Åbo Castle. For fifty years he honorably fulfilled his position, and when he was eighty, he retired with a pension, transferring his position to his granddaughter's husband, Anders Tegelsten. He lived for many more years in the old castle, where he once looked for bullets in the dungeon.
The friendship between the brownie and the gatekeeper has become as sincere as it is possible between a brownie and a person. Matts, no longer worried that the prisoners would escape from the castle, taking advantage of his free time, wandered around the old castle wherever he pleased, repairing damage, plugging broken window frames so that snow and rain could not penetrate through the cracks in the roof. During his wanderings, he often met the old brownie, although he did not see him. The brownie was engaged in the same affairs as the porter, because both old men loved nothing in the world so much as their castle. No one but them cared about this ancient building. It’s worth it, it’s worth it, but if it collapses, it’s the road to it. Fires raged over the castle, time swept over it, winters burst into it with snow, summers with rain, the wind shook its pipes, rats gnawed holes in the floors, woodpeckers broke window casings, vaults of the dungeon threatened to collapse, and the towers leaned suspiciously downwards. The Abo castle would have turned into a heap of rubble long ago if the brownie had not constantly repaired all the damage. And now he had an assistant in the person of old Mursten.
The seven-hundred-year-old brownie's heart trembled. One fine day, he turned his merlushka hat inside out, and immediately ceased to be invisible. Where did he come from! When old Moorsten saw a small, grinning kindly old man with a long white beard and a hunched back, he nearly fell down the tower stairs in fright. With fright, he wanted to cross himself, as was still done in the days of his childhood, but the brownie forestalled the old man with his question:
- Are you afraid of me?
"No, no, no," the doorkeeper stuttered, but, plucking up courage, he asked:
- And with whom I have the honor ...
The brownie laughed with his characteristic slyness.
“Oh, look, you don’t have the honor of knowing me. Do you remember someone said to you: “Hold on tight to the shaft of my boot!” When you were twelve years old? Remember, someone blew out the candle when you fell asleep over a book, and someone found your boot in the sea when you fell off the pier? Do you remember someone cleaning up the blot when you wrote your application for the post of gatekeeper? Do you know who walked around the castle all night long while you were sleeping, and made sure that all the doors of the prisoners were securely locked? It was me. I believe, Matts Moorsten, we are old acquaintances. Let's become friends now!
The gatekeeper was very embarrassed. He, of course, guessed who was in front of him, and as a good Christian he was afraid of communicating with non-humans. But he did not show it, and from then on he got used to meeting the old brownie here and there during his wanderings around the castle.
In addition, the stories of the brownie about Abo Castle were worth listening to. After all, the whole life of the castle from the very beginning of its existence passed before the eyes of the brownie; he remembered everything as if it were yesterday. He saw Saint Eric and Saint Henrik. He knew all the heads of this castle. He saw Duke Johan and his brilliant court, he saw the captive King Eric, Per Brahe, who received the first professors at the Abo Academy, and many other illustrious men. The brownie talked about the many sieges of the castle and the ill-fated fate of its inhabitants during fires and wars.
The most terrible fire happened when the brownie went to visit his cousins, brownies from Tavastehus.
After this event, he decided never to leave Abo again.
Listening attentively to the brownie, the gatekeeper followed him from one hall to another, from one dungeon to another. And then one day they came to the Hollow Tower.
"Would you like to come down to me and see how I live?" asked the brownie.
“Oh, yes,” the gatekeeper replied, not without secret trepidation, but curiosity got the better of him—he had never been to the Hollow Tower.
They went downstairs: the brownie in front, the gatekeeper behind. Downstairs it was dark, even gouged out the eye, terribly cold, damp and stinking.
"Am I not comfortable?" asked the brownie.
"That's right, if you like it," replied Matts Moorsten politely, stepping at the same moment on the foot of a dead rat, a foot that immediately crunched under his foot.
“Yes, you people have some amazing passion for sunlight and air,” the brownie laughed. “I have something much better. Have you ever breathed more healing air? And the light that I have is much better than the sun, you'll see. Murra, you old troll, where have you been? Come here now and shine a light on my fellow trader.
At these words, something black crept with barely audible steps from the most distant corner, climbed onto a stone and stared out two huge sparkling green eyes.
— Well, how do you like my lighting? the brownie inquired.
- It's a cat? asked the gatekeeper, possessed by a keen desire to get out of here.
— Yes, now Murra is a cat, but she was not always a cat. She guards my yard and is the only one I communicate with. She's a kind creature when she's not angry. For safety's sake, don't get too close to her. I can do without society, but I need a yard guard. Would you like to see my treasure chest?
“I humbly thank you, I’m not curious,” the chilled doorkeeper replied, and thought to himself that the brownie’s treasure must be as wonderful as the air and lighting in his tower.
- As you order! - the brownie was offended. “It seems to me that you take me for a beggar. - Come here, look! - With these words, he opened a small rusty door, hiding in the darkest corner, under moss, mold and cobwebs. The cat Murra, like a shadow, slipped through this door and lit up with her sparkling eyes a dungeon full of gold, silver and precious stones, expensive court clothes, magnificent armor and other ancient treasures. The brownie looked at all these jewels with a kind of greedy satisfaction. And then, patting the guest on the shoulder, he said:
“Confess, Matts Mursten, that I am not at all such a poor man as you, by the simplicity of your soul, imagined. All this is my rightfully received estate. Whenever there was a fire in the castle or it was ravaged by enemies, I ran invisibly through the halls, dungeons and hid precious treasures, which, as is now commonly believed, fell prey to fire or the enemy. Oh, how wonderful it is, how wonderful it is to be so rich!
“But what do you do with your wealth, you who are so alone?” the porter dared to ask.
What am I doing with it? I admire it day and night, I preserve it, I protect it. Am I, who has such a society, lonely?
“But what if someone steals your treasure?”
Murra understood the question and snorted fiercely. The old brownie firmly grabbed his frightened guest by the hand and, without answering the question, led him to another iron door. He only slightly opened it, when a terrible growl escaped from it, it seemed that hundreds of predators were growling.
“Don’t you think,” the little old man exclaimed in a voice hoarse with anger, “don’t you think that the unfortunate little people have already longed to seize my treasures more than once!” They lie here, these robbers, bound hand and foot. They are all wolves now, and if you are willing to try what they tried to do, you will share their fate.
“God save us,” breathed the meek gatekeeper.
When the brownie saw how frightened his guest was, his good mood returned to him and he said in an even voice:
Don't take it so personally. You are an honest fellow, Matts Mursten, and therefore I will reveal something else to you. You see here also the third iron door, but no one dares to open it, not even I. Deep down below the castle foundations sits someone much older and far more powerful than me. Surrounded by his sleeping warriors, old Väinämöinen sits there, waiting for his beard, which is much longer than mine, to grow long enough to curl around a stone table. And then his imprisonment will come to an end. The beard grows every day, and every day he checks to see if it is enough to wrap around the table. But when he sees that he is still missing a little, he is very sad, and then the sounds of his kantele are so clearly audible through the thickness of the rocks that even the old walls of the castle listen to them. And the local river overflows its banks in the wild in order to hear better. And then his heroes wake up, rise to their full height and hit their shields with swords with such force that the vaults of the castle tremble.
“Well, now, my friend Matts Mursten, it’s wiser for you to go upstairs to the people. Otherwise, you will hear more than you can handle. But I almost forgot that you are my guest and you need to be treated. I can imagine that you are not attracted to such delicacies as cobweb jelly or spiced water from a puddle ... Do not be shy, speak frankly. Do you want a glass of beer? Follow me, I have a lot of supplies. Often I thought why I keep various unnecessary rubbish, but now I see that it is still good for something.
The brownie took a silver goblet from the treasury and poured into it a shiny, dark brown liquid from a large oak barrel. The porter was very cold and could not help but taste the field - it turned out to be no worse than the noblest wine. The porter even dared to ask where the brownie got such a precious drink from.
- This is from the barrel of the famous Finnish beer left over from Duke Johan. It brews over the years, like my puddle water. Save the cup to remember me; but don't say a word about it to anyone. I have hundreds of these cups.
“Thank you, father brownie,” old Mursten thanked him. — Can I invite you to the wedding the day after tomorrow? This is, of course, impertinence on my part, but my great-granddaughter, little Rose, is marrying Sergeant Major Robert Flinta, and it would be a great honor if... if...
It suddenly occurred to the old man how the priest would react to the appearance of the brownie, and he stopped short.
"I'll think about it," remarked the brownie.
They soon went upstairs, and as old Moorsten felt his lungs fill with air, it seemed to him as if he had never breathed so easily before. “No, for all the treasures of the troll I will not climb into this terrible tower again,” he thought.
And in the old castle they began to clean, scrape and wash. After all, there was a wedding. But it was not at all some noble young lady from the castle in an embroidered silver dress who gave her hand to a knight with a plume of feathers fluttering on his helmet and jingling spurs. Not! It was only a young girl from Abo in a homespun cotton dress. But you should have seen how pretty and good little Rosa was! A brisk sergeant-major in a battalion of sharpshooters made it clear to her that if she only wanted to, she could eventually become a general after he himself became a general. Little Rosa considered this quite probable and promised to become a fru sergeant major first.
But Robert Flinta had a rival, his cousin named Chilian Grip. He had his sights on little Rosa, yes, and so did he! But not so much for her own little self, but for the money he thought she would eventually inherit. Robert Flinta's luck had driven him into a terrible rage, and he decided, in consultation with his mother Sarah, the most malicious old gossip in Abo, to try to find out how to prevail. But before the sergeant had time to gasp, the announcement in the church and the wedding were announced.
The preparations for the wedding went off without a hitch: the wheat croutons rose with yeast like rolls; pantries, as if by themselves, were bursting with food; and even the rats that wanted to get close to them, every one of them fell into a trap. It seemed that the whole castle had become younger, the broken glass suddenly became whole, the stairs were suddenly repaired, the chimneys blown away by the wind rose again. People were only amazed, but the old gatekeeper understood well who should be suspected of all these friendly concerns. He ought to be grateful, but he thought to himself: “What will the priest say when the old brownie comes in and turns his lambskin hat inside out?”
And then the wedding day came, the guests gathered, but the brownie did not show up. With a sigh of relief, the porter also indulged in wedding fun. And the music, and the dances, and the speeches were so beautiful that they matched the real field marshal, and not just the one who still only intended to rise so high. Little Rose was so pretty and seemed so happy in her simple white dress with a wild rose flower in her hair! No one has seen such a beautiful bride for a long time. And Robert Flinta behaved during the Polonaise with such dignity, as if he were already at least a general.
And when it was the turn to drink for the health of the bride, all the glasses were filled by themselves. When the little Rose entered the circle of congratulators, someone's invisible hand put a sparkling precious crown on her head. The guests in the hall were only amazed. They all saw the crown, but no one saw the one who put it on the bride's head. And then they began to whisper that, they say, the bride's great-grandfather, the old porter, must have found a treasure in one of the dungeons of the castle.
Old Moorsten kept his thoughts to himself, waiting in fear for the brownie to appear among the guests and, grinning with pleasure, ask:
Are you satisfied with my gift to the bride?
But the brownie did not go, although no, he was already here. Coffee was being served to the guests when the porter heard the familiar voice of the brownie whisper in his ear:
- Can I take a cracker for Murra?
"Take four crackers... take the whole basket," the stunned porter answered him in the same whisper.
“Poor Murra needs something to cheer her up,” the voice went on. “You see, old friend, I have accepted your invitation. But I'm not going to turn my hat inside out, I don't really like the priest. How do you think my crown suits the bride?
- She looks like a queen.
“Still,” remarked the brownie. - This is the crown of Katarina Jagiellonica from the time when she was the Duchess of Finland and lived in Abo. But don't tell anyone about this.
“I swear that I will be silent,” whispered the gatekeeper. "Maybe you could get another pretzel for Murra?"
“Murra only eats once every five hundred years. Enough for her,” the brownie replied. “Now, goodbye, and thank you for the treat.” It is so terribly light up here that I want to quickly find myself in my cozy Hollow Tower.
At this the whispering ceased, and the porter was glad that he had got rid of such a dubious wedding guest.
To celebrate, he drank fragrant wine to the health of the bride. But he, honest Moorsten, should not have done it, because he was old and the wine had gone to his head. He became talkative and forgot to keep his mouth shut.
Meanwhile, Aunt Sarah and her son, of course, did not fail to appear at the wedding. Without taking her envious eyes off the precious crown, Sarah sat down next to the gatekeeper and began to utter:
Why make a girl vain? It's better to sell a goldsmith's crown to a goldsmith and get a lot of money for it than to learn how to turn up your nose. And if Mursten found the crown in the dungeon of the castle, then it still belongs to the high authorities, since the entire castle is also his property.
“And I didn’t find the crown at all. And I didn’t give it to the bride,” the doorkeeper answered angrily.
“God save me, who else could give the bride such a jewel?”
“Madame is none of that,” said the porter.
"Doesn't concern me?" It doesn’t concern me if the prosecutor comes to my blood nephew-fiance and says: “Hold an answer for stolen goods, sergeant major. The stolen crown.
Honest Matts Mursten got angry and in the heat of the moment said more about the treasure in the tower than prudence required. Sarah, having found out the secret of the brownie, immediately went up to her son and whispered to him that great treasures were hidden in the Hollow Tower. They must be possessed before anyone else knows about them. Chilian Grip volunteered to go after the treasure. Mother and son secretly got out of the hall, got a lantern, a shovel, a pickaxe, a rope ladder, and, unnoticed by anyone, went down to the Hollow Tower.
It was dark in the deep dungeon, every step echoed, and the rats fled in fright into their holes. A hidden lantern cast a flickering light on gray, dusty walls covered in spider webs.
“Someone is following us… Can't you hear the footsteps? Sarah asked.
“It is the walls that echo our steps, mother,” Chilian replied.
Yes, this little Rose, in the dark and in the daylight, could wander here, in these deserted halls, alone, without fear of anything. But when your conscience is not clear, you tremble at the slightest sound!
After a long search, they finally found the Hollow Tower. An icy, foul air blew on them from the depths. Do they dare to go down into this dark and cold hole?
"Don't go there," their conscience told them.
“Get in there,” greed commanded them.
The sergeant took a rope ladder, tied it tightly at the entrance to the dungeon and climbed down first, the greedy mother following on his heels.
They had not yet had time to go down, as the lantern went out. Black darkness enveloped them like a sack. And then, suddenly, a pair of glowing embers flashed in front of them. These were the eyes of Murra the cat.
“It seems we’d better get back up,” Sarah whispered, trembling.
Her son thought the same way. But as soon as they put their foot on the rope ladder, the castle shook from a terrible roar. Stones and gravel fell into the tower and blocked the return path for people. At the same moment, by the light of the cat's eyes, they saw a small, gray and crooked figure of a brownie, his small, tiny red eyes and a long beard.
“Welcome to my home,” the brownie grinned. “How kind of you to wish to visit me, but I, in turn, will leave you with me forever. I will show you my treasures, the very treasures that have pleased you so much, but which will never be yours. Murra will purr to you. You must know, Sarah, that five hundred years ago Murra was just as old a gossip and a squalor as you. And she stayed with me for the same reason as you. And after she lived the human age allotted to her, she became a cat. The same honor will be awarded to you, my friend! See how Murra's eyes glow with joy that she finally has a girlfriend! And you, Grip, since you are a thief, after you live your human age, you will become a wolf among all other wolves. Hear how they howl with joy!
So Chilian Grip and his mother had to stay forever in the Hollow Tower. People wondered where they had gone, but who would mourn a gossip and who would mourn a thief?
The next day, the old porter Moorsten said to his great-granddaughter:
- Rosa, yesterday the wedding was wonderful, the bride is beautiful. Guess, my child, who once wore your crown? No more, no less than Katarina Jagiellonica, Duchess of Finland.
“Grandfather, you are laughing at me,” said Rose.
- You do not believe me? I know this for sure. Bring the crown here and you will see that it is marked with the royal monogram.
Rosa went to the closet where she kept her wedding dress, but, amazed, returned back. The crown is gone. Instead, there was only a piece of rusty iron.
“Ah, I am an old fool,” sighed the gatekeeper, who could not remain silent. “I swore to keep the secret that was entrusted to me, and I betrayed it. Child, child, never betray anything that has been entrusted to you under an oath of silence.
Rose decided that the old great-grandfather had fallen into childhood. After all, he was already eighty-eight years old.
However, Matts Mursten lived for another two years, but he no longer went into the dungeon and up the stairs of the tower. He did not have the slightest desire to meet with his old friend brownie. Because by many signs, he realized that the brownie was no longer as friendly to him as before. The chambers of the castle were never again cleaned by an invisible hand, flowers were not watered, and the collapsed walls were not restored. The castle fell into disrepair. It was useless to patch and repair it, because nothing could resist the destructive force that now raged in the ancient castle. One day old Moorsten said to Rose:
Take me for a walk in the castle!
"Good," Rose replied. Where do you want to go, grandfather? In the dungeon, in the halls or in the tower?
“No, no, not in the dungeon and not even in the tower. I can meet someone on the stairs. Lead me to the open window on Lura. I need fresh air.
- Then let's go to the western hall, the windows of which overlook the mouth of the river. I will take the baby with me, I will take him in a wicker stroller.
(Rose already had a little boy, who was named after King Eric.)
They walked slowly through the castle. The rays of the sun illuminated the mighty gray walls and the almost ninety-year-old man, who for the last time wandered around the castle dear to his heart. Looking out of a small window, he saw the bay at the foot of the tower, shimmering and calm. The Aura, sung by so many, rolled its sparkling waters into the bay, and in the distance one could see hundreds of white sails that swayed the evening summer winds.
With eyes full of tears, the old porter looked at all this splendor.
“Ax,” he sighed, “this beautiful old castle will crumble to dust soon. The oldest castle in Finland will soon turn into a pile of stones, and the jackdaws will look in vain for a wall where they can build their nests. If I could save the old castle from destruction, I would willingly give my life for it.
“Well, it wouldn’t be very expensive then,” said a voice well known to the porter, and an old brownie, in a hat turned inside out with fur, crawled out of a crack in the wall.
- It is you? asked the porter in surprise.
— And who else! laughed the old brownie. “I just moved from the Hollow Tower to another rat hole. Could not stand the incessant chatter of old Sarah. Such a gossip will even force a brownie to take flight. Wow, now I'm hard of hearing, I'm getting old, and in the world today everything has been crushed, everything is nonsense and nonsense.
"That's true," the gatekeeper sighed. “The world is getting worse and worse. But how do you let the castle fall into disrepair?
— May I? the brownie grumbled. - There are reasons for this, I was in a bad mood. But I can't forget my old castle. I must surely endure a few more hundred years, until the beard of the old man sitting below wraps around the stone table. Did you say something like you're ready to give your life for the old castle?
“I would gladly do so if you continue to preserve his power.
“And what do I need your life for, you old junk,” the brownie burst out laughing. “Your life is now measured in hours. Give me better baby in a wicker stroller. He can live his seventy or eighty years and become a good servant to me.
Hearing these words, little Rose turned pale and bent over the child, as if trying to protect him.
“You can take my life a thousand times over,” she said, “but don't you dare touch little Eric.
“You people are an amazing tribe,” the brownie muttered, frowning his bushy eyebrows, “I don’t understand you! What is human life? Where was this child yesterday and where will this old man be tomorrow? No, we brownies are much better off. I don't want to change with you.
Rose looked at him.
“Domovoy,” she said, “know this: if you were a thousand years old and if you lived another thousand, we would still live longer than you.”
Such impudent words infuriated the touchy brownie.
- Well, beware, you ant! he exclaimed, and struck his hand against the wall with such force that a fragment of the wall, huge as a rock, broke off and fell with a terrible roar from the round slope.
One more such blow, and the whole wall would have collapsed, crushing all living things in an instant.
Rosa and her old great-grandfather fell to their knees ready to die. But then the brownie's hand, suddenly raised up, froze and fell helplessly down. His recently so severe face became surprisingly sad, and the porter with Rosa saw how large tears rolled down from his small, red, blinking eyes.
From below, from the very depths of the rock, distant sounds of music were heard, and a song so sweet, the like of which no one had ever heard, quietly poured from under the foundations of the castle.
- Do you hear? whispered the brownie. - This is an old man in the bowels of the mountain, the one that is much older than me!
They listened for a long time in complete amazement. At last the song ceased, a rattling was heard, weapons seemed to be crossed, and the dungeons of the castle shuddered.
“The elder has finished the song,” the brownie explained, “and his people are striking their swords against the shields. It's good that he sang on time. Otherwise, I would have done something that I would later regret bitterly.
The porter, meanwhile, sank to the floor.
“Get up, old father,” the brownie said, coming into a good mood.
“Get up, grandfather,” Rosa asked and took the old man by the hand, but she immediately fell lifelessly. Matts Moorsten died while the song was being sung.
The rays of the evening sun illuminated his gray hair.
“So, so,” said the brownie with a strange grimace and with such a strange intonation in his voice, which had never been heard from him before. My old friend took the cruel joke seriously. I swear on my treasure. I didn't mean to offend you or your baby. But I want to keep my vow, old comrade. This castle will not crumble to dust for another five hundred years, as long as my hand retains its strength. But you left me, old brother in the craft, continued the brownie. “Who will help me take care of our old castle now?”
“Instead of grandfather, I will do it,” Rose cried. “And when my little Eric becomes an adult, he will also love the old castle and will help you just like his old great-grandfather.
“Then Eric will still be my servant,” said the brownie.
- No, - answered Rosa, - until the end of his life he will be a servant of God and people.
The old porter Matts Mursten was buried with full honors, to the sound of bells and the singing of psalms. After his death, the castle began to regain its former comfort. The collapsed wall one morning again acquired its former appearance. The masons easily coped with other collapsed walls. Each stone seemed so light, like a piece of bark. All holes and cracks were repaired as if by themselves, and often at night one could hear how someone was dragging gravel and stones through the deserted halls.
This was done by the brownie, faithful to the oath he had sworn to the old porter.
And the Abo Castle still stands today.

Golyavkin Viktor Vladimirovich

Novels and stories

OUR TALKS WITH VOVKA

About me and about Vovka

I live with my father, mother and sister Katya. In a big house next to the school. Vovka still lives in our house. I am six and a half years old and I do not go to school yet. And Vovka goes to the second grade. We are very good friends, only he likes to tease. For example, he drew a picture: a house, a sun, a tree, and a cow. And he says that he drew me, although everyone will say that I am not there. And he says: "You are here, you hid behind a tree." Or something like that.

One day he asks me:

You know?

I answer him:

Don't know.

Oh, you, - he says, - you don't know!

How can I know?

And I know there are stars in the sky.

This I know too.

Why didn't you tell me right away? - And laughs. - When you go to school, you will know everything.

I thought a little, then I say:

You know?

Oh, you, - I say, - do not know!

What don't I know?

That I'm standing next to you. And also a student!

Vovka immediately took offense.

You and I are friends, - he says, - and you tease.

It's you, - I say, - and not I teased.

Since then, Vovka has become less teasing. Because I mimicked it. But all the same, he sometimes forgot and began to tease again. And all because he goes to school, and I can’t go to school.

About how I decided to go to school

This is what happened to me last year...

Vovka had a way to remember. If Vovka wanted to remember something, he would sing out loud. I also remembered how Vovka sang the letters: “A-a-a-a bvgd-uh-uh ...”

I go and sing at the top of my lungs. Everything turned out like Vovka. Only Katya really bothered me. She followed me and sang too. She is only five years old, and she climbs everywhere. He sticks his nose into everything. She has an unbearable personality. There is no rest from her. She did a lot of trouble: she broke a decanter, three plates, two cups and a jar of jam. I locked myself in the bathroom to sing the letters. And she knocks on the door and cries. And what does a person need? Why would she sing with me? Unclear. Well, my mother took her away, otherwise I would have confused the letters. And so I remember everything perfectly.

I came to Vovkin's class and sat down at the desk. Some boy began to chase me, but I grabbed the desk and did not leave. He had to sit at another desk.

The teacher immediately noticed me. He asked:

Where are you from, boy?

I'm nine years old, I lied.

It doesn't look like it, said the teacher.

I came myself, - I said, - I can sing letters.

What letters?

Are there any other letters?

Of course have. - And shows me a book.

Oh, and there are a lot of letters! I was even scared.

I can't do that much, I'm still small ...

Did you think you were already big?

I didn't think I was that small. I'm as tall as Vovka.

And who is Vovka?

There he is, I said. We played with him...

He's lying! shouted Vovka. - I am higher!

Everyone laughed. The teacher said:

I believe both of you. Especially since you were measured. But you don't know all the letters.

That's right, I said. But I will learn them.

When you learn, come. And now it's too early.

Surely, I say, I will come. Goodbye.

Goodbye, the teacher says.

Here's how it turned out!

I thought Vovka would tease.

But Vovka did not tease. He said:

Do not be sad. You only have to wait two years. It's quite a bit of a wait. Others have to wait much longer. My brother has to wait five years.

I don't burn...

What to grieve! ..

Nothing to worry about, I said. - I'm not angry...

In fact, I grieved. But I didn't show it.

I have an extra primer,” said Vovka. - My father bought me one primer, my mother bought another one. Do you want me to give you a primer?

I wanted to give him a guards ribbon in return. He has been asking me for this tape for a long time. He didn't take the tape.

I am for the primer, - he says, - I will not take the tape. Learn please. I do not mind.

Then just like that, - I say, - take the tape.

It's just possible.

I would give you my dream, I say. “But sleep is impossible. You know, do not you.

The fact is that Vovka always dreams of roosters. And dream of nothing else. He himself told me about it. And I have different dreams. How I climbed the mountains, oh, and it was difficult! I even woke up. As I stood as a goalkeeper. Caught a hundred balls.

And I’m all cocks ... - Vovka sighed. - So boring!

And you drive them.

How to drive them? After all, they are in a dream ...

Drive anyway.

I really wanted to help him. So that he had normal dreams, and not some kind of roosters. But what could I do! I would gladly give him my dream!

About one and two

Today Vovka came home from school furious. Doesn't want to talk to anyone. I immediately understood what was the matter. I probably got two. Every evening he plays in the yard, and then suddenly he sits at home. Maybe his mom didn't let him. It happened once already. He then brought one. And why do people grab deuces? Yes, more units. Like you can't do without them. Irresponsible, as my dad says. I will definitely be conscious. After all, from deuces everyone is sad - both dad and mom ... Maybe it's hard to study at school? Look how Vovka suffers from this. He sits at home, he is not allowed into the yard. It's hard to study at school. Will it be difficult for me to study? Mom will scold me, put my nose in a corner, not let me into the yard to play with the guys. What kind of life will it be? We need to talk to Vovka. Find out everything about the school from him. And then it will be too late. I will go to school myself. It's better to know now. Maybe pick up and leave? Somewhere on the edge of the world?

In the evening I asked my dad why Vovka had enough deuces.

He's just a slacker," Dad replied. - He's unconscious. The state teaches him for free. Teachers spend time on it. Schools were built for him. And he. know yourself a deuce brings ...

So there is Vovka! He is a quitter. I couldn't even imagine how it was possible! After all, they even built a school for him. This I could not understand. For me, if a school were built... yes, I would... I would study all the time. I just wouldn't leave the school.

I met Vovka the other day. He was walking from school.

Got five! he shouted joyfully.

You're lying, I said.

Am I lying?!

Because you are a slacker!

What are you?! Vovka was surprised.

You're a slacker and that's it. That's what my dad said. Clear? Vovka hit me with all his might on the nose, then pushed

me and I fell into a puddle.

Received? he shouted. - You'll get more!

And you will get!

See what! She doesn't go to school yet!

And you are a slacker!

Uncle Vitya came up to us. Uncle Vitya is a pilot. We all love him very much. He took us on a plane.

Peace, - said Uncle Vitya, - immediately!

I didn't want to reconcile at all. First, the nose

I was terribly sick, and secondly, since Vovka is a quitter ... But Uncle Vitya forced me to. I had to reconcile.

Uncle Vitya took us outside and bought us ice cream.

We ate ice cream in silence. Vovka took money out of his pocket and offered:

I have money here ... Shall we buy more?

We bought a glass of ice cream and ate it in half.

Want more? I asked.

I want, - said Vovka.

I ran home, took money from my mother, and we bought another glass.

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The little girl is unwell. Every day Dr. Mikhail Petrovich, whom she has known for a long time, visits her. And sometimes he brings with him two more doctors, strangers. They turn the girl over on her back and stomach, listen to something with her ear to her body, pull the lower eyelid down and look. At the same time, they somehow importantly snore, their faces are strict, and they speak among themselves in an incomprehensible language.

Then they move from the nursery to the living room, where their mother is waiting for them. The most important doctor - tall, gray-haired, in gold glasses - tells her about something seriously and for a long time. The door is not closed, and the girl from her bed can see and hear everything. She does not understand much, but she knows that it is about her. Mom looks at the doctor with big, tired, tear-stained eyes. Saying goodbye, the head doctor says loudly:

Most importantly, don't let her get bored. Fulfill all her whims.

“Ah, doctor, but she wants nothing!”

- Well, I don’t know ... remember what she liked before, before her illness. Toys… some treats…

“No, no, doctor, she doesn’t want anything…”

- Well, try to entertain her somehow ... Well, at least with something ... I give you my word of honor that if you manage to make her laugh, cheer her up, then this will be the best medicine. Understand that your daughter is sick with indifference to life, and nothing else ... Goodbye, madam!

“Dear Nadia, my dear girl,” says my mother, “do you want something?”

“No, Mom, I don’t want anything.

- If you want, I will put all your dolls on your bed. We will supply an armchair, a sofa, a table and a tea set. The dolls will drink tea and talk about the weather and the health of their children.

- Thank you, mom ... I don’t want to ... I’m bored ...

- Well, well, my girl, do not need dolls. Or maybe call Katya or Zhenechka to you? You love them so much.

- Don't, mom. The truth is, you don't have to. I don't want anything, I don't want anything. I am so bored!

Do you want me to bring you some chocolate?

But the girl does not answer and looks at the ceiling with motionless, unhappy eyes. She has no pain and no fever. But she is getting thinner and weaker every day. Whatever they do to her, she doesn't care, and she doesn't need anything. So she lies for whole days and whole nights, quiet, sad. Sometimes she will doze off for half an hour, but even in her dream she sees something gray, long, boring, like an autumn rain.

When the door to the living room is opened from the nursery, and further into the study from the living room, the girl sees her father. Dad walks quickly from corner to corner and smokes everything, smokes. Sometimes he comes into the nursery, sits on the edge of the bed and softly strokes Nadia's legs. Then suddenly he gets up and goes to the window. He whistles something, looking out into the street, but his shoulders are shaking. Then he hurriedly puts the handkerchief to one eye, to the other, and, as if angry, goes to his office. Then he again runs from corner to corner and everything ... smokes, smokes, smokes ... And the office becomes all blue from tobacco smoke.

But one morning the girl wakes up a little more cheerful than usual. She saw something in a dream, but she cannot remember what it was, and looks long and attentively into her mother's eyes.

- Do you need something? Mom asks.

But the girl suddenly remembers her dream and says in a whisper, as if in secret:

- Mom ... can I have ... an elephant? Just not the one that is drawn in the picture ... Can I?

- Of course, my girl, of course, you can.

She goes to the office and tells her dad that the girl wants an elephant. Dad immediately puts on his coat and hat and leaves somewhere. Half an hour later he returns with an expensive, beautiful toy. This is a big gray elephant who himself shakes his head and wags his tail; the elephant has a red saddle, and on the saddle is a golden tent and three little men are sitting in it. But the girl looks at the toy as indifferently as she does at the ceiling and walls, and says languidly:

- Not. It's not like that at all. I wanted a real, live elephant, but this one is dead.

“Just look, Nadia,” says dad. “We’ll wind him up now, and he’ll be just, just like a living thing.

The elephant is turned on with a key, and, shaking his head and waving his tail, he begins to step over his feet and slowly walks along the table. The girl is not at all interested and even bored, but in order not to upset her father, she whispers meekly:

“I thank you very, very much, dear papa. I don’t think anyone has such an interesting toy… Just… remember… after all, you promised to take me to the menagerie to see a real elephant… and you never took me…

“But listen, my dear girl, understand that this is impossible. The elephant is very big, it's up to the ceiling, it won't fit in our rooms... And besides, where can I get it?

- Dad, I don’t need such a big one ... Bring me at least a small one, only alive. Well, at least here, like this ... At least a baby elephant.

“Dear girl, I am glad to do everything for you, but I cannot do this. After all, it's the same as if you suddenly told me: dad, get me the sun from the sky.

The girl smiles sadly.

What a fool you are, dad. Don't I know that the sun can't be reached because it burns. And the moon is also impossible. No, I would like an elephant ... a real one.

And she quietly closes her eyes and whispers:

- I'm tired ... Excuse me, dad ...

Dad grabs his hair and runs into the office. There he flickers from corner to corner for a while. Then he resolutely throws a half-smoked cigarette on the floor (for which he always gets it from his mother) and shouts to the maid:

- Olga! Coat and hat!

The wife comes into the front.

Where are you, Sasha? she asks.

He breathes heavily as he buttons up his coat.

“I myself, Mashenka, don’t know where ... only, it seems, by this evening I will actually bring here, to us, a real elephant.”

His wife looks at him worriedly.

- Honey, are you well? Do you have a headache? Maybe you didn't sleep well today?

“I didn’t sleep at all,” he replies angrily. "I see you want to ask if I'm crazy?" Not yet. Goodbye! Everything will be visible in the evening.

And he disappears, slamming the front door loudly.

Two hours later, he sits in the menagerie, in the front row, and watches how the learned animals, on the orders of the owner, make different things. Clever dogs jump, somersault, dance, sing to music, put words from large cardboard letters. Monkeys - some in red skirts, others in blue pants - walk on a tightrope and ride a big poodle. Huge red lions gallop through burning hoops. A clumsy seal fires a pistol. Finally, the elephants are brought out. There are three of them: one large, two very small, dwarfs, but still much larger than a horse. It is strange to watch how these huge animals, seemingly so clumsy and heavy, perform the most difficult tricks that even a very dexterous person cannot do. The largest elephant is especially distinguished. He first stands on his hind legs, sits down, stands on his head, feet up, walks on wooden bottles, walks on a rolling barrel, turns the pages of a large cardboard book with his trunk, and finally sits down at the table and, tied with a napkin, dines, just like a well-bred boy .

The show ends. The spectators disperse. Nadia's father approaches the fat German, the owner of the menagerie. The owner stands behind a wooden partition and holds a large black cigar in his mouth.

“Excuse me, please,” Nadya’s father says. - Can you let your elephant go to my house for a while?

The German opens his eyes and even his mouth wide in surprise, causing the cigar to fall to the ground. Groaning, he bends over, picks up the cigar, puts it back in his mouth, and only then says:

- Let go? Elephant? Home? I do not understand.

It can be seen from the German’s eyes that he also wants to ask if Nadya’s father has a headache… But the father hastily explains what’s the matter: his only daughter, Nadya, is sick with some strange disease that even doctors don’t understand properly. She has been lying in bed for a month, losing weight, getting weaker every day, not interested in anything, bored and slowly fading away. Doctors tell her to entertain, but she doesn't like anything; they tell her to fulfill all her desires, but she has no desires. Today she wanted to see a live elephant. Is it really impossible to do this?

- Well ... I, of course, hope that my girl will recover. But… God save… what if her illness ends badly… what if the girl dies?

The German frowns and scratches his left eyebrow with his little finger in thought. Finally he asks:

- Hm ... And how old is your girl?

– Um… My Lisa is also six. Um... But, you know, it will cost you dearly. You will have to bring the elephant at night and only take it back the next night. During the day you can't. The public will gather, and there will be one scandal ... Thus, it turns out that I lose the whole day, and you must return the loss to me.

“Oh, of course, of course… don’t worry about it…”

- Then: will the police allow one elephant to go to one house?

- I'll arrange it. Allow.

- Another question: will the owner of your house allow one elephant to enter his house?

- Let me. I am the owner of this house.

– Aha! This is even better. And then another question: which floor do you live on?

- In the second.

“Hm… It’s not so good anymore… Do you have a wide staircase in your house, a high ceiling, a large room, wide doors and a very strong floor?” Because my Tommy is three arshins and four inches high and four arshins long. In addition, it weighs one hundred and twelve pounds.

Nadia's father thinks for a minute.

– Do you know what? he says. “Let’s go to my place now and look at everything on the spot. If necessary, I will order to expand the passage in the walls.

- Very well! - agrees the owner of the menagerie.

At night, the elephant is taken to visit a sick girl.

In a white blanket, he strides importantly along the very middle of the street, shaking his head and twisting and then developing his trunk. Around him, despite the late hour, a large crowd. But the elephant pays no attention to her: every day he sees hundreds of people in the menagerie. Only once did he get a little angry.

Some street boy ran up to his very feet and began to grimace for the amusement of onlookers.

Then the elephant calmly took off his hat with his trunk and threw it over the neighboring fence, studded with nails.

The policeman walks among the crowd and persuades her:

“Gentlemen, please leave. And what do you find so unusual here? I'm surprised! It's like they've never seen a live elephant on the street.

They approach the house. On the stairs, as well as all the way of the elephant, up to the dining room, all the doors were thrown wide open, for which it was necessary to beat off the door locks with a hammer. The same was done once when a large miraculous icon was brought into the house.

But in front of the stairs, the elephant stops in anxiety and becomes stubborn.

“We need to give him some kind of treat…” says the German. - Some sweet bun or something ... But ... Tommy! .. Wow! .. Tommy!

Nadine's father runs to a nearby bakery and buys a big round pistachio cake. The elephant shows a desire to swallow it whole, along with the cardboard box, but the German gives him only a quarter. The cake is to Tommy's taste, and he holds out his trunk for a second slice. However, the German turns out to be more cunning. Holding a delicacy in his hand, he climbs up from step to step, and the elephant with an outstretched trunk, with splayed ears, involuntarily follows him. On the court, Tommy gets the second piece.

Thus, he is led to the dining room, from where all the furniture has been taken out in advance, and the floor is thickly covered with straw ... The elephant is tied by the leg to a ring screwed into the floor. Put before him fresh carrots, cabbage and turnips. The German is located nearby, on the couch. The lights go out and everyone goes to bed.

The next day, the girl wakes up a little light in the first place asks:

- What about an elephant? He came?

“I came,” my mother answers, “but only he ordered that Nadia first wash herself, and then eat a soft-boiled egg and drink hot milk.

- Is he kind?

- He is kind. Eat, girl. Now we will go to him.

- Is he funny?

- A little. Put on a warm jacket.

The egg is quickly eaten, the milk is drunk. They put Nadya in the same stroller in which she rode when she was still so small that she could not walk at all, and they are taken to the dining room.

The elephant turns out to be much larger than Nadia thought when she looked at it in the picture. He is only a little shorter than the door, and occupies half the dining room in length. The skin on it is rough, in heavy folds. The legs are thick as pillars. A long tail with something like a broom at the end. Head in big cones. The ears are large, like mugs, and hang down. The eyes are quite tiny, but smart and kind. Fangs are cut off. The trunk is like a long snake and ends in two nostrils, and between them is a movable, flexible finger. If an elephant stretched out its trunk to its full length, then it would probably reach the window with it.

The girl is not scared at all. She is only a little struck by the enormous size of the animal. But the nanny, sixteen-year-old Polya, begins to squeal with fear.

The owner of the elephant, a German, comes up to the carriage and says:

– Good morning, young lady. Please don't be afraid. Tommy is very kind and loves children.

The girl holds out her little pale hand to the German.

- Hello. How are you? she answers. “I'm not at all afraid. And what is his name?

“Hello, Tommy,” the girl says and bows her head. Because the elephant is so big, she does not dare to say “you” to him. - How did you sleep that night?

She holds out her hand to him. The elephant carefully takes and shakes her thin fingers with his movable strong finger and does it much more gently than Dr. Mikhail Petrovich. At the same time, the elephant shakes its head, and its small eyes are completely narrowed, as if laughing.

Does he understand everything? the German girl asks.

- Oh, absolutely everything, young lady!

But he doesn't speak?

Yes, but he doesn't speak. You know, I also have one daughter, just as small as you. Her name is Liza. Tommy is a big, very big buddy with her.

“Have you had your tea yet, Tommy?” the elephant girl asks.

The elephant again extends its trunk and blows warm strong breath into the very face of the girl, which is why the light hair on the girl's head scatters in all directions.

Nadia laughs and claps her hands. The German laughs hard. He himself is as big, fat and good-natured as an elephant, and it seems to Nadia that they both look alike. Maybe they are related?

- No, he did not drink tea, young lady. But he enjoys drinking sugar water. He also loves buns.

They bring a tray of rolls. The girl feeds the elephant. He deftly grabs the roll with his finger and, bending his trunk into a ring, hides it somewhere down under his head, where his funny, triangular, furry lower lip moves. You can hear the bun rustling against dry skin. Tommy does the same with the other roll, and the third, and the fourth, and the fifth, and nods his head in gratitude, and his little eyes narrow even more with pleasure. And the girl laughs happily.

When all the rolls are eaten, Nadia introduces the elephant to her dolls:

- Look, Tommy, this elegant doll is Sonya. She is very kind child, but a little capricious and does not want to eat soup. And this is Natasha - Sonya's daughter. She is already starting to learn and knows almost all the letters. And this is Matryoshka. This is my very first doll. You see, she has no nose, and her head is glued on, and there is no more hair. But still, you can’t kick the old woman out of the house. Really, Tommy? She used to be Sonya's mother, and now she serves as our cook. Well, let's play, Tommy: you will be a dad, and I will be a mom, and these will be our children.

Tommy agrees. He laughs, takes Matryoshka by the neck and drags it into his mouth. But this is just a joke. Having lightly chewed the doll, he again puts it on the girl's knees, though a little wet and rumpled.

Then Nadia shows him a large book with pictures and explains:

- This is a horse, this is a canary, this is a gun ... Here is a cage with a bird, here is a bucket, a mirror, a stove, a shovel, a crow ... And this, look, this is an elephant! Doesn't it really look like it? Are elephants really that small, Tommy?

Tommy finds that there are never such little elephants in the world. In general, he does not like this picture. He grabs the edge of the page with his finger and turns it over.

The hour of dinner comes, but the girl cannot be torn away from the elephant. The German comes to the rescue

“Let me arrange it all. They will have lunch together.

He orders the elephant to sit down. The elephant obediently sits down, causing the floor in the entire apartment to shake and the crockery in the closet rattles, and plaster falls from the ceiling of the lower tenants. A girl sits in front of him. A table is placed between them. The tablecloth is tied around the elephant's neck, and the new friends begin to dine. The girl eats chicken soup and a cutlet, and the elephant eats various vegetables and salad. The girl is given a tiny glass of sherry, and the elephant is given warm water with a glass of rum, and he happily pulls this drink out of the bowl with his trunk. Then they get a sweet - a girl a cup of cocoa, and an elephant half a cake, this time hazelnut. The German at this time is sitting with dad in the living room and with the same pleasure as the elephant, he drinks beer, only in larger quantities.

After dinner, some of my father's acquaintances come, they are warned about the elephant in the hall so that they are not afraid. At first they do not believe, and then, seeing Tommy, they press close to the door.

Don't be afraid, he's kind! the girl reassures them.

But the acquaintances hurriedly leave for the living room and, without spending even five minutes, leave.

Evening comes. Late. It's time for the girl to sleep. However, it cannot be pulled away from the elephant. She falls asleep next to him, and she is already taken to the nursery, already sleepy. She doesn't even hear her being undressed.

That night Nadya sees in a dream that she has married Tommy and they have many children, small, cheerful baby elephants. The elephant, which was taken to the menagerie at night, also sees in a dream a sweet, affectionate girl. In addition, he dreams of large cakes, walnut and pistachio, the size of a gate ...

In the morning the girl wakes up cheerful, fresh, and, as in the old days, when she was still healthy, she shouts to the whole house, loudly and impatiently:

- Mo-loch-ka!

Hearing this cry, mother joyfully crosses herself in her bedroom.

But the girl immediately remembers yesterday and asks:

- And the elephant?

They explain to her that the elephant has gone home on business, that he has children who cannot be left alone, that he asked to bow to Nadia and that he is waiting for her to visit him when she is healthy.

The girl smiles slyly and says:

"Tell Tommy I'm quite well now!"

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Why does Gerhard Schroeder never mention the name of Dalia Grybauskaite and others?

In the Baltic Sea, specialized pipe-laying vessels laid on its bottom more than a quarter of the total length of the Nord Stream 2 gas pipeline - under the noise of statements by American and European politicians about how harmful and dangerous this project is, under their calls to stop the project to implement this new Russian-European highway.

Unfortunately, the chorus of comments from all kinds of analysts continues as to how great the risks of stopping construction are, why exactly the United States staged all this fuss, what prospects await the gas transport system of Ukraine in the near future.

It is unfortunate that these comments and assessments continue the myth-making of Western politicians, diverting our attention to meaningless things in real world words. There are more and more myths, efforts are already required to get to the very prose of life, but this must be done, otherwise we, following the Lithuanian dreamer Dalia Grybauskaite, will also tear ourselves away from the Earth and rush off to the country of pink fairies and snow-white unicorns.

There is a serious work to be done on the purification of consciousness - we will move sequentially, as when cleaning the head of an onion from the husk.

Let's start, perhaps, with the most “childish” question: who, in fact, is building Nord Stream 2? No, Gazprom's answer is not correct. The Swiss company Nord Stream 2 AG, headed by its Chairman of the Board of Directors Gerhard Schroeder, is and will be responsible for the construction and future operation of NS-2. It is he who is responsible for working with European politicians, and it is against such a political heavyweight that the prime ministers and presidents of the Baltic republics, Poland and Ukraine are trying to speak out.

And until recently, the direct operational work of the company was in charge of the executive director Matthias Warning, who from 2006 to 2015 carried out the same work with the first Nord Stream. And before that, from 1990 to 2006 he worked at Dresdner Bank AG, and even earlier he worked in senior positions in a German company with a fairly well-known name and excellent business reputation - Stasi, which we used to call in Russian "Stasi".

Stasi, Dresden, a completely unexpected invitation from Gazprom to work on the construction of gas pipelines. What can I say - a man was lucky, just lucky, because Alexey Miller could not agree to his candidacy, right, right? Director of the NS-2 project in the Swiss company - Henning Kote, from 1996 to 2006 was the head of the department for controlling investment projects and operations at E.ON Ruhrgas AG, since 2006 he joined the Nord Stream project, now he is working on the implementation of the Nord flow-2".

CFO - Paul Corcoran, Research Fellow at the British Institute of Chartered Accountants in Management Accounting, Commercial Director - Reinhard Ontid, who previously held senior positions in the legal support department of the German company E.ON Group for 20 years. Such is the team - every person is a bison of politics and a pillar of the European economy.

So they are not distracted - they need to work, this political chatter is like the sound of the wind outside the windows of the house to us. The company's headquarters is an excellent litmus test: while they are silent and working, it makes no sense for us to waste time analyzing texts from ministers, chancellors and other presidents. Does this argument seem unconvincing? There are additional, we will discuss.