A student who has completed the third year is already close to the top of that wonderful carelessness that will fill his memory of this period of his existence with a sweet filling. The toast, which was invented by compatriots guarding good luck - “Let us have everything and let us have nothing for it” is quite suitable without any references to the future, without any let, to represent what life is filled with in this wonderful time.

       Behind him is already a thorough and active awareness of the opposite sex, a great amount and varied quality of drunk, mastery of the guitar, preference, the ability to tell 100 anecdotes per night, the conquest of the Elbrus region, and most importantly new and precious friends for life. Everything for the first time, everything with maximum enthusiasm, everything is possible and everything is possible. The rake is still lying on the road, no one has died yet, there is not a single reason for alarming insomnia,  treason is unthinkable, everyone is happy for you and you are glad, and  you fly!

      July was approaching the Moscow Olympic year. And among our crowd, far from the gloomy Komsomol volunteering, the decision was finally formed that it was necessary to get out of Moscow. And then they will notice. They will definitely notice.

         And literally in a couple of hours they decided to go north. Someone told someone something that there in the timber industry they take everyone to work. As for me, I was not so worried about the details, the session was passed, the main thing is that we are all together, and that where we went, none of us had yet been, that it would even be possible to earn a lot of money there and all that. Dare to go into the abyss, as Master Osho said, then still Bhagwan Shri Rajnesh.

         There were 10 of us, the easiest to climb. B  the beginning of July our adventure began. Unfortunately, the details of the move have been wiped clean from my memory, well, okay, I forgot - that means it doesn't matter. Fact  

      You can remember the acceptance process only when meeting with a colleague in the process, and then, if a magic record is suddenly set, a new method is discovered, something unimaginable happened  and, of course, if the pangs of a hangover are overcome.


         Here, for example, such a story was just remembered and it was at about the same time.

         I'm telling ...

        In the Misisovsky hostel "House of the Commune" in the summer there was always a renovation. Whole floors were relocated, and the empty corridors in 51 rooms were painted, whitewashed, changed, repaired, rearranged, and so on. That evening in one of the rooms on the 5th floor there was an ordinary student drinking. It was unusual that at some point, a knife was thrown at the door. They threw long and aptly. But in the morning, my friend Alik and I, having wrenched our ... faces, which had become more similar not to the image of God, but to those places where you can poke your fist, found that the door had changed its physical properties. She, riddled, became rather unsteady, as if on the hinges instead of her there was a sheet of Whatman paper, well, or a waffle soaked in jelly. It was in no way possible to close the room with such a pendelture.

       They did not think long. Everyone in the "Commune" knew that all building materials are on the floors being repaired. We went there and almost immediately found a stack of brand new doors. It remains only to remove the disabled person and in his place, on  put the same hinges on a new one. For the next hour and a half we removed the old one and put in a new door. It was hard not only to lift weights, twist a screwdriver, it was hard to keep your eyes in one place, to maintain stability and also to make sure that our manipulations did not attract the attention of the malevolent student council and other dull-witted residents of this mega-home.

       Finally, the last screw crawled into his home and we, happy from the upcoming hike for beer, sat down on chairs, looking at the new door. We caught our breath ..

       "Well, let's close it?"    

       "Yeah, come on"

       The open door was impulse and circular  with a movement on the hinges, it began to close. We watched intently. The mouths, open to receive more air, were completely dry from yesterday's.

       The door completed its semicircular movement and, pushing off the jamb, went back. We, without blinking, looked at its geometrically perfect spread. Finally, she turned back, leaving the room open again. With the next beat of a healthy young heart, the word "wide open" came up from somewhere.

       We looked at each other. Something was wrong. Again a new door was sent with a gentle motion to close the room. And again she returned. She failed to close the room. She was generally deprived of this ability.

       She turned out to be Already. 15 centimeters.

       After all ...

       I had to remove this door and put it back in place. We went to look for and found a suitable successor.

      And we put the old, murdered one in four, like thick cardboard and imperceptibly carried it out under our armpits, throwing it into the fire, in which we constantly burned all fresh construction waste.

        I will return to the Leningrad region, namely to the northeastern corner of which, without memorable adventures, we finally arrived.       With us, students, went our alcoholic guru, incomparably more experienced in this, 6 years older than us, Misha Svistunenko, nicknamed Moisha. He was secretly given the reins of management of our entire enterprise. We, ready, ready for a lot, ready for anything, pinned ourselves, unexpectedly, to the timber industry. Day 3 negotiations were going on about our employment. We were assigned a class on the second floor of the local school, where we stayed all these days. The last Moscow supplies were being eaten, giant bullets were written one after another (preference - pr. Avt). But there was a problem with water. It was not enough - for all three days one 40-liter flask, in which milk was transported in those days.

       Finally, the negotiations ended successfully. The scope of work was determined for us, namely, to make a clearing from a large dirt road, and in this clearing to build a narrow-gauge railway. Everything is as it should be, sleepers-rails. Looking ahead, I will say that we made this road 5 km away.

       And it began with laying the direction of the future clearing in the taiga, in a real dense forest.

       This was done by the foreman of the fellers of the forest by the name of Kamotyosov (I remember it!). I volunteered to help him. The truck brought us along the road along which long timber trucks were moving back and forth, to the place from which we were determined to start. And we went deep into the forest. After taking 10 steps, we started setting up the landmarks. But something happened that I had not expected and had never experienced before. Mosquitoes began to devour me. The taiga mosquito is not a slender Moscow squeak. This is a kamikaze attack aircraft. It is a resolute and hungry projectile that without  florid, careful approaches, but simply, flying in a straight line, sticks his nose-spear into my warm and tasty  body. Vrazhina immediately gets hit on the head, having managed to really harm and swallow my precious gems of group 2  (Rh positive). But there is no time to triumph. There's a whole swarm of them! They fly from all directions and everything is at me. I bludgeoned myself continuously, killing dozens of bloodsuckers.

       At this time, the elder took out a tiny bottle-scale from his pocket, unscrewed the cork, dropped a couple of drops on his palm and rubbed his neck, ears and forehead.

        - Cho-that them today and in truth ...

       - Oh, what do you have? - Without stopping the battle, I asked curiously.

       - Duc, dimethyl phthalate, well, they didn't give you?

       - No-no!

       - Well, they will. You can't do without it. Gobble up to hell.

       He shared this miraculous substance with me and then we marked the future clearing without much hassle.

       Upon arrival at our school residence, I reported on what had to be done in the forest and what monstrous ghouls were starving there, and that there is a cool thing called dimethyl phthalate, that this is the fundamental principle of all repellents .. “Yes, we have already been told and given a bucket. Standing over there. Take care only of your eyes and mouth. "

       The guys were writing the bullet. Everyone knew how to play well, they did not make mistakes. The game was boring. And then one of the players shared his matured secret. "And I'll go ... I'll go." He got up, went to the container  with a mosquito horror, put his hand in there, and without shaking off the flowing oily liquid set off to the wind.

       “How good it will be for him now,” I thought. - will find a suitable place, light a cigarette, protect the bare part of the body and calmly, without worries, go into spiritual emigration. Much later, I would have come up with a name for such a ceremony, something like "secure output interface". But in those days these words were not yet available.

       Upon his return, Yura De, that was the name of his comrade-in-arms, colorfully shared with us all the details of his relief. And that was good. After the horror experienced in the mosquito forest, this circumstance of our immediate life became almost the main one.

       How long or short, but now it's time for me to go for air. With a little need, pur-la-petit, as the smartest person in the whole world and among us put it, Dimych Tytik. I dipped my hand in dimethyl phthalate and headed outside. I didn’t have to take off my pants, just unbutton it. But the spacewalk was another important detail of mine. And here is her (him, them) I carefully and  processed. In 3-4 seconds something terrible happened. Only a burn with boiling water was more terrible, much later, when a boiling kettle fell from hand to foot. And then thousands of silver needles in the form of unbent small fish hooks dug into my tender, trusting flesh, and thousands of distant rods began to nimbly hook and pull prey, each in his own direction. And this horror only grew, threatening to move into the next phase - "Horror-horror".

       I ran into the house with my pants unbuttoned and screaming "Water !!!" appeared before the most respectable public. But with water we were strained, we no longer spent it on washing and brushing our teeth, allowing ourselves only a mug to drink vodka. Such a mug was extended to me by kind hands. I sat down in it with all my suffering body. Gradually the pain let go, and only then I heard the deafening laughter of sensitive, affectionate, caring and cordial comrades. Happiness is the absence of pain ...


       In the following days, the whole gang of sloths and drunks was transported to the future  our clearing. We were dressed in black overalls, bought in boots with round iron inserts on the toes. So that the log that fell on the boot does not hurt your toes too much.

       Healthy axes were also issued and, oh, delight! chainsaws "Ural", to them containers with gasoline and oil, on the mixture of which they  and worked. They also brought us a bunch of boards, from which we quickly built ourselves a large house, a shed, which fit 10 beds with mattresses on which we slept. And finally, they brought us a house-booth-trailer on wheels, in which there was a kitchen with a gas stove, and where a new duty officer prepared food for everyone every day and where all our supplies were kept.

         In the beginning, we were helped by professional fellers from the timber industry, and we soon mastered this folk profession, which had been mastered before us by many generations and estates that inhabited this territory. Homeland ..

        The technology is as follows: along the paved direction, along the landmarks, we cut down trees with a clearing 15 meters wide. The fallen trees "tuck", that is, all branches and twigs are cut down. Then the bare trunk is sawn into 2.5-meter long logs - the future sleepers. Their diameter ranges from 15 to 40 cm. The butt (this is the lower, thickest, from the ground, part of the tree) and the tops are not used. Sawed logs  delivered to the middle of the clearing and stacked, becoming the sleepers of the future road. It's good when the ground under them is level, then everything is simple. But if pits and hillocks go, you have to  to level the landscape by laying several layers of sleepers, making gathas, decking and other fortifications.

         The nature of these irregularities became clear very quickly. These were craters, trenches, trenches, indispensable scenery for the war. Literally all the land of this forest was crammed with rusty iron, on one side of the glade - ours, on the other - German. And what was not there. Helmets, PPSh and Schmeisser assault rifles, machine guns, rifles, coils of barbed wire, anti-tank grenades  with  rotten handles, like thick canning  cans and sleeves, sleeves, sleeves ... No bones, skulls and skeletons, thank God, we did not come across. Apparently, on both sides there was time for funeral teams ... It turned out that our clearing was the front line.

          Each male biont, when faced with a weapon, experiences a burning interest and a desire to touch everything, press, aim, and somehow put it into action. And when there are ten of these thugs, then hold on ...

         Very quickly we gathered a decent arsenal, for which we quickly rallied  a rack where the best-preserved finds were laid out.

          Once, at lunchtime, we were sitting at our large table, waiting for the dishes to be ready. Yura Deo came out of the woods, kicking something with his foot. What was kicked looked like a tin can.

          “Atas, men! Yura! What you think you are!?" one of us shouted. Everyone sitting at the table was blown away by the wind ... Yura was playing with an anti-tank grenade.

         “Yes, she's without a fuse! The handle fell off "  

         After lunch, they decided that TNT should definitely be "blown up", which was with enthusiasm  made. True, not  from the first  attempts. A bonfire was built around the remains of the grenade, which caught fire along the gasoline path ...

          When I now remember and write this, I clearly understand what kind of idiots  we all were. And how close we were  from trouble.

          The explosion nevertheless took place, giving rise to noisy delight and a desire to repeat ...


          This regular cannonade  from the side of our clearing, in the end, led to the arrival of a military sapper in a UAZ, a senior who, without further ado, confiscated our entire collection of weapons and ammunition. He also languidly inquired if we were thinking what we were doing.

          Anyway, the games with fire stopped. There were other chores and entertainment.

        An important detail, since the beginning of work we have a dry law. And despite the fact that we had a box of vodka among our supplies, the law was strictly and unanimously observed. The vodka was intended to speed up the upcoming acceptance processes. The strategist Moishe had everything foreseen. Imagine the amazement and indignation when a shortage of 2 bottles was discovered. It happened on duty of Dima Shmakov, who succumbed to the tearful requests of the timber industry fellers to get drunk on their sinful soul, and to calm the unbearable torment of his suffering gut.

         The Friendly Court was brief. The verdict is strict. Friendly Execution.

         The saws roared for 5 minutes, the gallows was ready. The stump is placed under the loop.

         Lining up in a line, putting on German helmets, Schmeisser in hand, we heard the verdict. Dima was put on a tree stump. And at the last moment, the sentence was somewhat mitigated. Hanging was replaced by photographing on a scaffold with a noose around the neck. The film was already in Moscow, fortunately, was accidentally exposed and this evidence of our cruel brainlessness disappeared.

        But I think it's worth telling about it. As they say, you will not sin, you will not repent. Forgive me, Lord, boobies. We won't be like this anymore ...

         Dima Shmakov did not become Dostoevsky, but we gave him some dreary emptiness  probably left.

         In the meantime, our felling skill grew, and with it our productivity.  Everything worked well. There was no need to force anyone. One of us, Zhenya Krasinsky, at the very beginning of our fishing, had a purulent wound on the index finger of his right hand, into which an elastic band had to be inserted so that this pus would not accumulate, and all this should be kept clean. Brr. Zhenya could not work with his right hand. But he worked with his left! And how. He did not pretend to be a saw, his tool was an ax. He became a real virtuoso in removing branches and branches from the trunk.     

         We devoted a lot of time to mosquito science. It turned out that they are not at all afraid of the smoke, which we filled in as an experiment.  our home. It was already impossible to breathe there, but the mosquitoes ached and bit as before. That the record of mass simultaneous extermination from hitting oneself on the knee is equal to 79 pieces of killed bloodsuckers left on the palm of your hand and carefully recounted by a biased jury. That there are warm-blooded ones that are not tasty to them, which they do not eat and do not even sit down. There was one among us  an inedible unique, Dima Kozin, who wore swimming trunks outside of work. And what about  every spoonful of food ate several pieces of these unbearable anopheles and, if you do not reflect on this, it is not at all scary and not disgusting.

          And that dimethyl phthalate is a radical remedy for this evil spirits.

         Once, Andryusha Yartsev, Chief, as we all called him, came up to me. Judging by the way he looked at me, he was clearly confused about something. "Lodea, I need to seriously talk to you ...". When you start a conversation with this phrase, your interlocutor invariably strains, immediately feeling  not in my  plate.

          “Come on,” the Chief nodded to me.

          And we went to the backs of our home, where we went to relieve our various needs. With a long twig, the Chief pushed aside a burdock leaf and an artifact was revealed to his eyes ... In its appearance, in size, it was very much like a loaf of veal sausage. After a few tense, silent  moments, it became clear that this was not veal sausage. Well, definitely not veal. It was a waste product.

          My amazement can only be compared with the horror of Robinson, who saw the bare footprint of the future Friday.

          Immersed in an exploratory contemplation of this yet incomprehensible phenomenon, I heard the Chief's voice.

          - Inject, is it yours?

          He read the answer on my face, as the ability to speak temporarily left me.

          “You see, you were my last hope. I interrogated Moisha, the rest were small, they could not. But if it is not  who are you? ..

          Suspicious of me, however,  there was a certain respect which now went to the unknown author of this.     

          The chief told me that he had been thinking about this riddle in the morning. He kept it a secret from everyone, so as not to sow the inevitable  panic. But there was no rational explanation and had to  translate it into the realm of miracles or mysticism. There were suggestions that it could be a large omnivorous animal. But, firstly, no one saw or heard him, and secondly, the beast could not mark the territory here, since it was marked by us a thousand times and meaningfully.

          Having already returned to Moscow, we came to the conclusion by circumstantial evidence that it was one of the fellers. Heroes are not us ...

          Lord, all your will!

         Sad news came. Vysotsky died. But only in May, in the "Moskvorechye" House of Culture, I was at his concert. He looked then, it was simply striking, terribly tired, as if having turned on the plant and worked out the set, not responding to a storm of applause.

          And the clearing was growing, a flat, light in the twilight strip of laid sleepers awaited the rails. The trail we had thoroughly troddened along the clearing, ignoring the intended  straightness mechanisms.

       Finally, the 5 km mark was reached. The forest was left alone. They brought the rails. These were scaled-down clones of the regular large rails on which regular trains travel. But the piece of iron weighed 150 kilograms and had to be carried together. The three of us turned out badly, because on the uneven paths, one hero periodically carried it, walking in the middle of the rail.

         By the time August passed its half, it was time for me to go to practice in   Cherepovets. I was the first to leave the forest, which sheltered us for a month and a half and did not see how, a couple of days later, a locomotive was launched on the road, the triumphal passage on which marked the end of all work.

         The fourth year, new adventures, new worries awaited us. The wound spring of life began to unclench, until then accumulating strength in the speedy comprehension of everything new, unknown, not tried.  

1980 - 2017  

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