I remember my vacation in Spain with you
In the sky, there is a bright sun, palm trees, and sand.
They took tickets to the bullfight in battle,
Finally, you and I are watching a bullfight together,
And delight in the chest! But…
What are you wearing this red dress for?
After all, bulls, as you know, are enraged by the red color.
Thirty-three picadors and a brave bullfighter
Under the bull, they die in the bloom of their young years.
All Spaniards know the rule,
That you can't irritate the bull with red.
But foreign tourists come
In red dresses and pants, with a red umbrella in his hands.
Anger in bulls!
What are you wearing this red dress for?
After all, bulls, as you know, are enraged by the red color.
Thirty-three picadors and a brave bullfighter
Under the bull, they die in the bloom of their young years.
I remember a vacation in Spain with you!
I paid three prices for those damn bullfight tickets!
And who advised you to wear this red dress ?!
You haven't worn it in eight years!
Well, explain to me - why, why ?!
What a fool you are!
(C) "Murzilki Int"
The phone call rang out with the last sounds of a reckless song pouring from the speakers of the music center. The matchmaker pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, felt the receive button, and almost sang into the receiver:
- What are you oo-oo-oo-hooray.
- Slavochka, - a woman's voice, taken aback, came in response, - and you are not snappy?
- Slavochka? - Svyatoslav Bekhterev, a former photographer and a real lady-torturer, was surprised. - There are no such people here. What is your question, dear?
"Don't be rude, dear," the woman replied venomously. - Today my lawyer will come to you ...
- Tprrrrru-oo-oo-oo, - gave out Swat, - you are my beloved horse!
At the other end of the broadcast, the interlocutor already choked. And the guy continued:
- So, so, Lyubasha, my light at the end of the tunnel is like a reflection of the headlights of a locomotive ... No lawyer. And you know it. We've been talking for a year and a half about my money, but you still don't understand? All questions to my lawyer, not to me. Cut off this time?
"You'll be sorry, Swat," the photographer's ex-wife managed to squeeze out. - All the same, I will achieve the division of property.
- Try, my greedy, try, - the matchmaker laughed. - Did you sign the marriage contract? So try it.
He answered the call. Here's the food for the vulture bird! Drawn, turn off the hell with a gag. The matchmaker returned the phone to his pocket and walked confidently across the room, flooded with sunlight. He felt the warmth from the rays falling through the huge panoramic window on his face and hands. There was a slight ache in my chest, recalling the agonizing hysteria of the past. That it was worth two years ago, on that ill-fated day, to turn into a vending alley after all. But no, he had to hurry, rushed to the airport, to meet the soul-maiden, Love of all photographic life. Do you need a lot to hit? Water plus someone else's cretinism. The finely dripping rain made the track slippery, and at the red traffic light a certain subject flew out with a shout in his eyes: "Eh, I will fly!" Didn't fly ... The matchmaker smiled bitterly, listening to the silence of his own house.
Well, at least he then managed to turn the steering wheel and caught on the reckless driver's car with a wing. Otherwise, only concrete and a fence would have been in his ended life. But now Swat understood that he was lucky. Beat, carousel gray skies, and pressing blacks. The last colored memory. And then what happened was marked as the end of the world, life, career ... The end of everything. For the first months, the blind photographer did such that the witnesses still remembered with a shudder. Friends almost began to hiccup when they heard his drawn-out "Well-te-s-s-s-s, let's taste frutis *", anticipating the wild antics of the former staff photographer of a famous glossy magazine and no less the former main guest of any event at the top, who was angry with the whole world. If Swat was at a banquet or corporate party, everyone knew that the photo report would be gorgeous. They paid him not godlessly, but very generously. And for ten years of professional work with the lens, Bekhterev managed to save enough funds not only for an apartment but also for a comfortable existence in its current state.
The matchmaker smiled wryly. His hand touched the framed portrait on the wall in a measured motion. Although he could not see now, his memory helpfully painted a field of sunflowers under a blue sky, and in the foreground a naked Mitka, with a huge agricultural flower in the causal place and a smile with all his teeth on his freckled face. They then played tricks around the Kuban all summer, fulfilling an order from some company for the production of sunflower oil and other nonsense. The shot turned out to be very rich, sunny, cheerful, and kind. When was that something? Bekhterev thrust his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers. Five years ago? No, four. Similarly, in the autumn that came later, Makarov drove off to permanent residence in the United States. The matchmaker snorted and shook his long-uncut hair. Some kind of euphony: for permanent residence in the United States ... And the New Year Svyatoslav signed with Lyubochka Leleeva. She didn't even change her surname - a cart and a small cart with ambitions. Until now, Bekhterev could not understand - what the hell did he do that ?! Gay, your mother, almost one hundred percent, open, one might say, rushed to seek comfort embraces in the arms of a hunter who has turned up to someone else's good. The photographer laughed again, catching the gentle warmth of the sun on his face. It was, of course, hot in one of his favorite costumes, but Swat never changed his habits. From his point of view, the suit has always been the most stylish and appropriate clothing. In it, at least for a ball to the administration, at least in a tavern for a visiting starlet, at least in the autumn forest for the mood you could trudge. And after the accident, nothing has changed. Now, when I had to rummage around the street with a white cane, as one of the former visiting social workers called her, and with Chip on a leash, the suit was all the more appropriate.
The matchmaker turned his head thoughtfully towards the kitchen, listening. So it is - the vigorous chomping and clanking of the bowl conveyed to him the truth of the moment - their shaggy highness will deign to improve his health. Bekhterev commanded:
- Chip, to me!
The fractional clatter of claws on the laminate, a happy whine, and powerful paws poked into the photographer's chest. He cupped the Labrador's shaggy head in his palms and nuzzled the wet concentration of the dog scent. The dog was prepared for him for a whole year before they handed the leash and began to train together. For two months now they had lived together in Swat's apartment. Bekhterev whispered:
- You are my shaggy joy ... You are not Lyubasha, are you? You won't betray me. And not Mitka to blame the "permaresi*" in the States ...
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*permanent residence
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The Chip happily licked the master's cheeks, once again squealed from the excess of feelings, and rushed back to the kitchen to finish the expensive dry food. Taking the dog from the kennel, Swat thoroughly found out what to feed such a treasure, infinitely kind and slobbering, and now he strictly kept his new girlfriend on the usual diet. Fortunately, finances allowed. Swat winced at the thought of money. Still, the call from his ex-wife, who was kicked out of the house six months after the accident, spoiled the mood, already not very even in the morning. Then Swat finally realized that he was doing stupidity. There was no scent of love for him from this unprincipled careerist. And he still preferred guys. True, having got into this dark world, Bekhterev closed himself in and did not allow anyone else to enter his life close enough. Don't fuck it, they'll start to regret it. And he doesn't need this snotty. He even sent a dick to Mitka when he called one day, hinting at a return under his wing ... Like "you and I will turn the whole world, you yes me yes you and me!"
After the divorce, the ex-wife began a systematic attack on the Swat state, but that was not the case. The marriage contract, drawn up once under the influence of cognac and champagne, and then certified by the matchmaker's notary, left no chance. That did not prevent her from starting the third trial. But Bekhterev preferred to pay a lawyer - it turned out cheaper. Much cheaper and easier.
The matchmaker went to the window, habitually checking the space around with his hands, pulled the handle, and opened one of the frame doors. A breeze burst into the apartment. The screams of children came from the playground under the house. Judging by the activity, the dull slapping blows, and the breathless breathing of the screaming, they were driving a half-inflated soccer ball. With his right hand, Swat groped for the camera hanging on a special hook near the window, aimed at the sounds with the lens, and pressed the shutter. A series of dry clicks echoed in my heart with delightful music. Bekhterev smiled at these sensations. Then I figured out how much more space was left on the matrix for the photographs ... Apparently, it is not enough, it is about to end. Bekhterev pursed his lips. Again you will have to ask Slavka or Becket to merge the pictures into a computer for eternal storage. And then listen to oohs and oohs, up to smothered admiration. As if he doesn't know that a blind person cannot take a shot that is not good, even a normal one. The matchmaker hung up the camera and froze by the window, absorbing the summer heat.
The telephone rang again, now a landline. Bekhterev frowned in irritation and reluctantly set off along his usual route. A portable pipe lay on the coffee table in the middle of the room. There he found her.
- Hello, this is the city morgue. Dr. Ivanov cannot come, he does an autopsy and has breakfast ...
- Are you in a bad mood again, Svyatoslav Lvovich? - the voice of the head of the city OSOND was heard in the receiver. - I have news for you.
- Really, Irina Valerievna, you decided that you will no longer send me your officers? - Swat asked with feigned hope, feeling that he was starting to wind up. All these social workers just pissed him off. And they did not stay for a long time - a maximum of a month. How many were there already?
- Can you be home tomorrow at ten in the morning? I'll bring your new social worker to your place.
- I hope this is not another nice deserved pensioner? - Swat hissed. Last winter, an old woman who had once worked in the police dragged to him. Oh, how she slammed the door, going into his past. Bekhterev understood her, such as he - go and look. And he did not call her boss on the subject of "the inadmissibility of causing material damage." And the last nymphet for marriage generally got him with her lisp. On the very first day, she spread snot about "so young, but how you ... " She flew out almost head first, as soon as it dawned on Swat what she was saying behind the sink of the kitchen sink.
"You are impossible, Mr. Bekhterev," the manager answered dryly. - If I had my way, I would have removed you from service long ago
Bekhterev thought, then thought again and answered with a sigh:
- Okay, I'll be waiting for you. How old is your worker?
- Tomorrow you will find out everything, - Irina Valerievna for some reason laughed. - And do not try to offend this cute creature. I'll come myself, I'll kick my ears.
- Well, it already depends on how the Chip lies. At the doorstep or in the hall.
- How is the shaggy beauty doing there? - the darkness around Swat has warmed up. Ziganshina doted on his shaggy dog. The photographer replied rather:
- They're having dinner, sir.
- OK. In general, I'm counting on you, Mr. Bekhterev, - the manager hung up.
The matchmaker smiled softer already. For a year of communication with this woman, he managed to get used to some frivolity that arose between them. She knew that he really needed some help — doing the laundry there, cleaning the kitchen, cooking food, or whatever. And he no longer believed that she would ever really rid her service of his presence on the lists of servants. Okay, you can somehow get over these two visits a week. Let's see what kind of bird is so cute and touchy. Bekhterev's lips stretched out in an anticipatory grin. He whistled to Chip, fastened a special harness on it in the hallway, fumbled for a cane, hammered his feet into his shoes, and opened the door. Even in the dark, you have to walk yourself and walk the dog. Chip sedately led the owner through the threshold and waited until he closed the front door. As soon as he turned around, Bekhterev felt unshakable confidence that today Chip was in a particularly good-natured mood. This means that you will have to fend off her caresses when they habitually sit on a bench in a nearby park. I wonder who is actually walking whom? With this question in his head, Swat memorized banged the end of his cane on the concrete of the platform, giving the guide dog a signal that the journey had begun.
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* "Well-those-s-s-s, let's taste frutis" - now this is no longer an advertisement) Although, yes, this was such a slogan once.