Waking up the next morning in a new place, Stepan, naturally, did not immediately realize where he was. But two glances later, at the panoramic window and the photo of a guy with sunflowers, the student came to his senses and thievingly covered himself with a sheet, kindly allocated yesterday by a cynical troll named Svyatoslav Lvovich Bekhterev. After the embarrassment of feeling the face of the face and the subsequent spectacular greeting, Swat was once again replaced. From a moderately spiteful reptile, he turned into a fury of sarcasm ... Or a fury? Stepan puzzled, looking at the man spread out on the sofa. The photographer slept in the sleep of a righteous man who made a pilgrimage to the most distant shrine. It was almost completely covered with a flowered sheet. The leather sofa, mercilessly exploited as a rookery, was located from Stepanova's cot, also issued by Swat, almost across the entire room.
And now the student, out of habit yesterday undressed to his swimming trunks, and in the morning afraid that he would be seen in such an image, relaxed. Well, they'll see enough to the point of insanity. Most of all, Stepan was pleased that the sun was rising behind the house. And the rays of the morning light did not fall through the hefty window. Otherwise, the awakening of the second day of practice would have been much more hectic. Stepa quietly slid off the cot, trying not to creak with the piece of folding furniture. Then he quickly pulled on short shorts of protective colors, which he had brought from the house yesterday, and stuck his feet into the slippers, just as prudently brought from home. The bag with the rest of the things was still lying in the hallway. Having rummaged in it, the guy armed himself with a "soap-and-mouth" set of towels, a toothbrush, and mint paste, and occupied the bathroom. There was something to see here. Last evening, Styopa did not bother to really appreciate the decoration of almost the most important room in the large apartment of Bekhterev. But now he appreciated the huge mirror on the wall above the corner bath, and the super-fluffy rug under his feet, and other delights for hygiene. Having quickly done things, the student went to the kitchen, accompanied by a noticeably nervous Chip, who crawled out of the bowels of the hallway, where she obviously preferred to spend the night.
After filling the electric kettle with water and turning it on, Stepan heard a fuss in the hall and looked out to the accompaniment of a dog whining. The matchmaker unceremoniously stretched himself, trying at the same time to push the labrador from himself, who strove to wash the owner at his own discretion. The dog playfully grabbed the edge of the sheet and ran to the middle of the hall, leaving Svyatoslav without cover. Stepan was immediately thrown into the paint. It seems that Swat also had his own well-established habits. And one of them turned out to be a banal "naked sleep", as Morse called such a phenomenon to himself. That is, the former photographer preferred to sleep naked, which the student has now comprehended. Styopa rushed to the kitchen as if he had forgotten something. Ten minutes later, the voice of Swat announced from somewhere in the hallway:
- We go for a walk, the mistress of the dish mountain.
The guy just smiled when the door slammed. The top priority in the kitchen was indeed a pile of dirty dishes. Although the dishwasher, the savior of the housewives, stood right there, the landlord, it seems, did not include polishing the faience into the necessary habits. Having cluttered the insides of such a useful unit, Stepan still did not wait until she would lick dishes and other joy with jets of water for half an hour. He moved the rest of the dishes to the sink and began to scrub it with a common washcloth and detergent. As the pile of dirty cups, forks, and spoons diminished, a plan for coexistence with such a complex person as Bekhterev began to emerge in the student's head. Even from the moment of awakening, in the intervals between pulling the sheet, staring out the window, and at Swat, he decided that in no case should the established rhythm of life of a blind man be disturbed. Since he is used to doing everything himself, then you should not go into the holy of holies. All the same, there are many moments of everyday life when the help of an outsider is urgently needed. Here's how with the dishes. Looking at the sink before loading it with work, Styopa drew attention to the fragments of a cup, casually stuck under the apparatus. It looks like a dishwasher was installed in Swat's house recently, and he is not yet used to handling it.
By the time the walkers returned, Styopa managed not only to handle the dishes but also to brew tea. He also examined the kitchen for food and supplies of all kinds of junk. Having come to the conclusion that the trip to the store was inevitable, Stepan sat down at the kitchen table, poured some tea leaves into a large mug, diluted it with boiling water, and began to wait for the aromatic drink to cool down. A door slammed in the hallway, the carbines of Fish's harness clicked, and the dog galloped into the kitchen, eager to find out what was going on. She immediately smelled the antediluvian pancakes that the student found in the refrigerator, steaming out on the platter. Next to the masterpiece of ancient cooking, Styopa put the remains of sour cream in a plastic jar and a bowl of candied honey. It was not a lot, but it should be enough for Swat - the student decided and sipped tea. Bekhterev slowly entered the kitchen in an unchanged suit, which caused the student a surprised snort. The matchmaker calmly felt the stool with his foot, sat down at the table, and asked:
- Are you today, my dear sir, or so, did you come out to stand?
- It depends on what you mean, - Stepan answered, looking at his ward sullenly - he was still more interested in tea now. Bekhterev threw up his hands dejectedly, almost making the guy choke - the blind man's right hand flew a centimeter from the teapot. The student immediately pushed the container with boiling water away, noting to himself that from now on he would put it immediately away from the edge and from the hands of Swat. And Bekhterev continued:
- I understand that it is not for the owner to ask the guest, but I don't have anything more essential here than that dung of mammoths that is now on the table?
Stepan snorted into tea again, recalled his search, and replied:
- There is a "doshirak", three packs of red and two packs of green. Do you really think that Korean freeze-dried noodles are more significant than pancakes, even if they are the same age as the ancestors of the elephant family?
"You just don't know how to cook it," the former photographer stated self-confidently. - Having been on many business trips, still sighted, so to speak, I gained tremendous experience in the field of the finest art of steaming a doshirak, you know, Stepan Arkadyevich. If approached with the proper flair and experience, the tea ceremony is relaxing. Have you tried noodles with fresh bacon, lemon wedges, and a teaspoon of cognac? The latter is added purely for taste. Some people prefer to pour it into themselves, but this, mi, sorry, is so-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-such bad manners ...
Stepan listened to this tirade with eyes growing in diameter. From his point of view, noodles are also noodles in Africa, no matter how hard you steam them. And also from Swat, there was such a home-grown snobbery of the capital's elite that the student almost laughed, but stopped himself in time and offered:
- No bacon, no lemon, no cognac ... I have not seen it. And I still propose to get by with the gift of mammoths with sour cream and honey. Now I'll pour you some tea ...
- Sit, - Swat almost barked and got up from the stool, - I'll do it myself. Otherwise, I'll spoil myself and sit on your neck.
Bekhterev, with a wizard's gesture, ran his hands over the table, felt the kettle with his fingers, then the empty mug and the teapot. Dexterously mixing himself a drink, Swat returned to his place and stretched his usual gesture towards the middle of the table. Stepan, frightened, realized that it was there that there was a sugar bowl, and hastily pushed it into the place he was looking for, which he managed to determine to another place. By that time, the matchmaker had already leaned forward thoroughly. And as a result, his fingers rested on Stepan's bare chest. The student gasped and immediately moved away with the words:
- I put the sugar in the right place ...
- I am in heaven? - a deliberate bliss appeared on the face of Swat. - A naked guy sits at my table, we are drinking tea, it's morning outside ... Why don't I remember the stormy night?
Stepan blushed painfully, finding no words in reply. Bekhterev continued:
"I swear by a thousand and one ways of steaming Korean noodles, amnesia is awful. What do you think, young man?
- And the young man thinks that we will now finish our tea, pack up and go to the grocery store. And then you just have a holocaust of hungry mice in the refrigerator and other cabinets. Wherever you go, everywhere reproachful corpses hang, - Stepan often began, still feeling the place on his chest where Swat's fingers poked. He brutally rubbed it with his palm, shrugged his shoulders, and took a long sip of tea. I just didn't take into account that the drink is still too hot. Morse froze, feeling a red-hot something in his throat, and then heroically swallowed the liquid. Without thinking twice, the guy jumped off the stool, rushed to the sink, opened the water, and fell to the tap, swallowing cold moisture. Everything in my throat immediately calmed down, except that the beginning of the rawness. Bekhterev listened with interest to the fuss, tilting his head to one side, then to the other.
When Stepan stepped back and felt Chips' furry side with his foot, it was too late to save the liver, as they say. He flew onto his back, hitting the kitchen table along the way. The dog squealed resentfully, the table jumped, and what was on it fell down together, turning the kitchen into bedlam. Only the kettle resisted. When, a few seconds later, the student dared to open his eyes, screwed up during the fall, the cheerful muzzle of a Labrador was hanging over him, from which brown eyes looked reproachfully. At the same time, some of the black wool on the face was definitely smeared with sour cream. Swat's strained voice knocked down the silence:
- Hey, are you safe there?
"If this news makes you feel worse, then yes, I'm safe ... It seems," Stepan replied. The chip immediately disappeared from the trajectory of his gaze. The trainee got up with a grunt, feeling the traces of contact with the floor on his back. The shoulder blades were beaten off thoroughly, and the left hand, which had messed with the table, hurt the wrist. Sitting on a stool, Stepan already quite philosophically perceived the following phrase of Swat, said with some relief:
- Well, which of us is blind in this house? No, I understand everything, young man, but turning my kitchen into a runway for fluttering undergrowth ... This is somehow too much, you don't seem?
"I don't think so," Stepan answered, exhaled with relief, and added:
- I know that for sure.
Bekhterev chuckled but immediately could not resist and laugh softly. Styopa saw how his eternally focused face changed, and was stunned. He was a different person, calm, joyful, who did not know any troubles. The features of Swat's face smoothed out, the wrinkles around the eyes and nose disappeared somewhere. The invalid's eyes lit up as if they saw something rare, worthy of a photo frame. Chip peered into the kitchen with interest, staring at the owner. It seems that even she is not used to seeing him like that.
The doorbell seemed to cut off that invisible thread that momentarily tied two people sitting in the destroyed kitchen of a large apartment. Stepan almost with horror saw how the traces of past troubles returned to the handsome face of his ward. It was as if the mask had returned to its place, gluing itself from the pieces that were scattered around the world. The counter barked into the hallway, clearly showing that she was on guard, and the enemy would not pass. "The enemy is already here," the trainee thought, looking at the frozen face, under which a living person was again buried.