The OSOND minibus drove into the courtyard of a high-rise building with a new layout, as evidenced by the huge windows of the apartments and the unimaginable size of the loggia. Stepan immediately shoved a copy of the blind photographer's personal file into his old "bag" and stared at Irina Valerievna Ziganshina, the head of social workers not only in his hometown but in the entire municipal district as a whole. A cheerful plump woman with a shock of well-groomed brown hair flashed her brown eyes in response and said:
- We've arrived, young man!
The car stopped, and he and Ziganshina got out into the sultry morning. The woman again struck the guy with her height. Even at the first meeting, Styopa only managed to think: "The Hobbit!", After which he was immediately taken into circulation. Irina Valerievna, dressed in a strict business suit of "burgundy" color, gave him tea until gurgling in his belly and during the conversation managed not only to dump the composition of various information on his poor head but also to find out all the ins and outs from the guy. And now, with almost maternal concern, I sympathized:
- Oh, you will cry with your ward, Stepan.
- Well, he's not a maniac ... - the student smiled. - Did you warn him that I will live in his house?
"I don't like this idea of your institute," the head shook her head. - Now we'll find out whether Svyatoslav Lvovich will agree to this. He is a man of certain principles, so to speak. He closed in on himself and practically does not communicate with anyone. Well, nothing. He is a strict man, but decent.
- Already a stone fell from the heart, - Styopa laughed. - Will not bother!
"He is a supporter of voluntary relationships," Ziganshina replied seriously, glancing at the student with a strange look. Stepan asked perplexedly:
- So he ...?
"And he doesn't hide it," the woman nodded. "That's why I was so surprised that you agreed to take on the work of communicating with such a difficult person.
Stepan shrugged his shoulders:
- Well, first of all, I'm not one of those. And secondly, you simply do not know how our institute assigned students to your wards.
- How's that? - Irina Valerievna got interested.
"They pulled envelopes with names at random," the student explained and looked again at the red brick skyscraper. On the playground next to the parking lot, behind the fence, three boys and a girl were running around, chasing a ball in the morning. The schoolchildren indulged in vacations with complete selflessness. Stepan heard a drawn-out "hmm" and, shuddering, turned to the manager, rapidly turning pink:
- Oh sorry. I got distracted.
- It's okay, - Ziganshina glanced at the dial of the elegant ladies' watch on her left hand and said in a businesslike manner:
- So, it's already ten. He is waiting for us. Come on, Stepan ... How is your father?
- Arkadievich, - prompted the student. - But maybe not? It's somehow awkward ...
- It's embarrassing, forgive the pun, when the neighbor's children look like a husband, - the woman smiled somehow brightly and cheerfully. - And we need to immediately establish a chain of command. Both you and Svyatoslav Lvovich are strangers to each other. And I will address you as I would all my employees. Well, breathe in and go?
They passed the hot courtyard, lined with patchwork shades of tree crowns, and entered the entrance. The elevator, in some places already thoroughly painted by craftsmen with rock art, took them to the fifth floor, where Irina Valerievna, without much hesitation, pressed the bell near the black iron door, on which the numbers, casually smeared with white paint "21", gleamed white. Stepan noted this oddity to himself, and then a cheerful barking was heard from the apartment. Judging by the sound, it was not a petty lapdog at all. Stepаn's face spontaneously stretched into a joyful smile. It looks like this is the very Finger, Bekhterev's guide. The guy hoped to find a common language with her right away. Throughout his short life, he knew that his one appearance on the horizon was enough for the dog to begin an attack of unrestrained care for him, his beloved and the only one. It was some kind of unknown magnetism that made huge trained animals jump around the student, or even start guarding. Once, even the owner of one such crazy wolfhound, angry with the behavior of the pet, pounced on Stepan with abuse, so the dog simply began to ply between the owner and the guest, deliberately preventing the first from reaching the second. Later, the stunned owner of the medalist called and confusedly said that after Stepan left, everything immediately fell into place, as if there was no such attack of puppy complacency. To which Morse just shrugged his shoulders and tried to somehow reassure the man.
A lock rattled at the door, and the black nose of a large dog immediately stuck out onto the platform. Irina Valerievna affectionately greeted the photographer's partner:
- Did Our Highness have breakfast? You are my beauty.
She, not really bending over, patted the ears of the black Chip, and she stared at the student with great curiosity. Stepan was about to sit down and say hello to the dog when it lifted its upper lip, showing its powerful fangs, and let out a throaty growl. Curiosity from black eyes was gone completely. Ziganshina even pulled her hand away from the labrador's head, almost looking at the dog with fear. A hoarse baritone came from the apartment:
- Chip, what other tricks? I'll feed you with socks! Ugh!
The shaggy guide immediately obediently hid his fangs and reluctantly got out of the way. The door of the apartment opened wide, directed by a man's hand. Stepan looked at the landlord. Before the student stood a man of about thirty, a head taller than him, with disheveled blond hair and slight bewilderment on his narrow aristocratic face. Eyes gray with green streaks seemed to look directly at Stepan. If the student did not know that Bekhterev was blind, he would never have thought that these eyes, piercing and clear, could not see the world around him. The thin blond man was dressed in a strict gray suit, under his jacket - a blue shirt with an open collar. The finishing chord of Svyatoslav's appearance was home slippers, soft, with beaver muzzles - yellow double teeth almost touched the floor. Stepan stared at the face of his future ward, snatching out the little things of his appearance: a high forehead, thin light eyebrows, a narrow nose with quivering wings, slightly swollen pale lips, a neat chin ... The feeling of the thinness of the face did not pass. For a moment it seemed to Stepan that Bekhterev did see him. Svyatoslav Lvovich blinked in the silence and asked:
- Irina Valerievna, I suppose so?
-You think correctly, Mr. Bekhterev, - Ziganshina died. - Can we get through?
- Of course, - the former photographer stepped to the side, clearing the passage. The manager entered the apartment, beckoning the student to follow her. Stepan slipped past the owner of the apartment and stopped in a large dark hallway. Chip, who was here, growled again and walked away gravely, glancing at the guests. The front door clanged again, cutting off the outside world. Irina Valerievna with a master's gesture turned on the light in the corridor. The owner of the apartment immediately reacted to the click:
- Do you think it will help?
Stepan looked at Bekhterev again. Svyatoslav's face seemed to him inspired by a lofty idea. What the man demonstrated by continuing the phrase:
- In the darkness of ignorance, the searchlight will not help. What if the light bulb burns out?
- Nothing, - answered Ziganshina, - we will ask you to change it.
The strange conversation puzzled Stepan. Noticing this, the woman caught herself and said:
- By the way, Svyatoslav Lvovich! Let me introduce you to your new social worker ...
- By the way, - Bekhterev did not let her finish, - that they decided to introduce us at last. And then the mouse slipped into the hole and hid. Yes, you breathe, breath! Do not be shy.
Stepan, to whom the last words referred, realized that he was really holding his breath. He exhaled slowly and said:
- Very nice, Svyatoslav Lvovich. I am Stepan Moroz.
The slightly narrowed eyes of the former photographer widened at the sound of the student's voice. Bekhterev smiled wryly and asked:
- A pleasant surprise, I must say. How old are you, boy?
"He's nineteen," Ziganshina cut in. - Let's go to the hall, and I'll tell you everything. Yesterday I omitted, so to speak, some details.
- Damn, - drawled Bekhterev. - And here everything is legal. It's a shame ...
Stepan looked blankly at the manager, and she slightly threw up her hands. The landlord walked past the student with a confident gait. Just before entering the hall, he stopped for a moment, touched the wall with his right hand, and disappeared from Stepan's field of vision. The student hastily took off his shoes and followed. Irina Valerievna entered the huge hall last. The student froze on the threshold, dumbfounded. Their Khrushchev was in no way comparable to this luxury. Light laminate flooring, leather armchairs, a glass coffee table, a set of handmade shelves and bookcases - everything screamed about the owner's wealth. The student exhaled softly:
- Blimey…
- I hear you liked my hut, - Bekhterev's voice came from the kitchen. - Make yourself comfortable, young man. I am now.
The manager, looking like a hostess, settled down in one of the luxurious armchairs and waved to Stepan, urging him to follow her example. The light from the huge panoramic window flooded the room with white solar warmth. Stepan ran his gaze along the walls of the hall and seemed to stumble. The very first photo of a rather large size, located almost in front of him, made the guy blush and look away. A black-and-white image of a naked guy, shot from the back against the background of a foggy morning city, was imprinted in his mind. Only now the student really understood who he was going to take care of. He felt a kind of duality. Never approved of same-sex relationships. And the fact that Bekhterev turned out to be gay, at first even made me think about giving up such a ward. But here ... Apparently, the guy (not a man, decided to himself a satisfied student, who associated this word with the age of forty) is not very simple. The more interesting it will be to communicate. Stepan looked at the second photo, or rather, the printed screen from the title cover of the magazine. Under the familiar name flaunted photograph of a ballerina girl reflected in a puddle on the asphalt.
Styopa blinked, puzzled, and frowned. This is the work of Swat, the main photographer for his mother's favorite magazine. Just about two years ago, the photographer left the editorial board of the magazine for family reasons, as the editor casually mentioned in the introduction to some issue. In the student's house, half of the hall was hung with cut-off glossy covers. At one time, my father was even relieved to hear the news of this Swat leaving the magazine. Mom hasn't bought a single room since then. Stepan heard the clinking of dishes behind his back, grinned, turning around, and literally snatched a serving dish with cups of tea from Svyatoslav's hands. Bekhterev froze for a moment. Red spots immediately appeared on his face. And Stepan grumbled categorically:
- Come on, I'd rather stumble and gracefully collapse under the clink of glasses?
The matchmaker snorted and, visibly calming down, asked, turning his head towards Ziganshina, who was watching what was happening in some prostration:
- What charming rudeness, don't you think, Irina Valerievna?
- Let's discuss some details, - said the head of the city OSOND. The photographer chuckled and walked over to the nearest chair. Stepan immediately noticed that the legs of this piece of furniture were firmly attached to the floor. Probably, the mountings remained from the time when Bekhterev learned to move by touch. Svyatoslav threw one leg over the other, threateningly swinging his beaver on his slipper, and said:
- And what such details did you, so to speak, deign to omit in our last conversation? I hope they didn't hang themselves out of chagrin? Or will I have to hang myself, and today?
"For some reason, your black humor turns white, Mr. Bekhterev," the woman replied calmly. - So, dear Svyatoslav Lvovich, Stepan Arkadyevich is an intern with us, studying to be a specialist in social work ...
- Yes, he no longer needs to study, - Swat interrupted benevolently. - From the boy and rushing obsessive care. And why can't I hear the promised clink of glasses?
"Don't be in a hurry to be mischievous," said Ziganshina displeased. - They have their own method of practice at the institute. And I want you to agree to help the young man. But first, three points.
- Come on, let go of your Serpent Gorynych of revelations, - the former photographer nodded graciously. Irina Valerievna silently shook her fist in his direction and looked guiltily at the student, who almost dropped his jaw. She smiled and continued:
- First, the payment for social services for the period of practice is covered by the State Institute of Social Technologies.
At this phrase, Fishka crept up to Stepan, sniffed his leg noisily, and politely grabbed the leg with her mouth. The student went cold. Labrador is not a Pekingese. If it gnaws, it won't seem a little. But the doggy only confidently dragged the student by the leg to the chair, which stood next to the one in which Swat nestled. Stepan with relief plunged into the leather embrace of the furniture and risked reaching out to the dog. The chip turned its head away in displeasure, again giving birth to a displeased squeak in its chest. The guy immediately took his hand away from sin. From his point of view, the dog was behaving very strangely. Judging by the expressions of bewilderment that appeared on the faces of Bekhterev and Ziganshina, they were thinking the same thing. When Chip cheerfully chuckled in the direction of the kitchen, Swat brought everyone back to reality:o
- The first head is not a question. I somehow think of such subtleties as a moon hare, Irina Valerievna. You know, finance is not a problem for me.
He chuckled and added:
- Even if Lyubochka nevertheless does a wonderful miracle and chops off part of my liches waste.
Ziganshina flashed her eyes disapprovingly. Stepa began to remember who this Lyubochka was, and what she was being eaten with in this house. Precisely, this is the ex-wife of the photographer, who left the disabled person, realizing that he would no longer be able to work. It looks like she only needed money and his growing fame from the guy ... I wonder how this gay man even managed to get married? Irina Valerievna continued:
- The second point is more complicated. Under the contract, Stepan will serve you for two weeks. And at the same time, he will live with you.
Bekhterev almost jumped, and then his face seemed to swell, it became so tired and angry. The matchmaker said sharply:
"Are you so sure that I will agree to this condition?"
- What's wrong? - Stepan muttered, completely not expecting such a reaction to the words of the manager.
- It's not like that, - snapped Svyatoslav. - Only I live here. Isn't it supposed that the social worker visits the client no more than twice a week?
- You are right, Svyatoslav Lvovich, - the manager answered. - But this item is required. Let's agree on this way ... Stepan will stay with you exactly one day. And only then will you make a decision.
Morse looked at the woman with respect. It seems that she knew which of her charges how to approach. Because Swat was thinking. A malicious grin appeared on his face, and he said:
- Aren't you afraid that I will not keep my, so to speak, interests?
- Stepan is a strong boy, he will fight back, I think, - smiled Ziganshina. - And this is the third question. If you, Svyatoslav Lvovich, if you try to do something like that, I am not responsible for myself.
"A serious argument," Swat drawled and relaxed in his chair again. Stepan winced. He never particularly liked such people, who advertise their "otherness" to the right and the left. As if sensing a change in the student's mood, Swat said:
"You know, my general, I changed my mind.
Ziganshina and Styopa looked at each other. Bekhterev continued:
- Let him live. The first practice is very important in the chosen profession. And I will help the guy understand that he made the wrong decision.
In the apartment flooded with sunlight, his voice sounded as if the frost on the winter window came to life and breathed its cold essence on Stepan. The student pursed his lips as he stared down at the calm face of his first client. It suddenly dawned on him that the man sitting in the next chair had long and hopelessly overgrown with a shell of cynicism. It was a challenge. Stepan smiled, got up from his chair, went up to Bekhterev, and whispered barely audibly:
- Thank you for agreeing. I think we'll get along.
The matchmaker turned to the voice. An evil grin seemed to be imprinted on his face. The photographer seems to have realized that the challenge has been accepted.