"Get out of here!"
Looking back, in the past time, sometimes clearly happy, sometimes not very, I remember different people with whom I came across, came into contact, communicated. In my life, I happened to have several communal apartments in which I had to build my bachelor or family nest. That's about one such apartment, or rather about its inhabitants - my story.
In odnatyshch 986 at the end of December I passed the session at Moscow State University, where I went for the next education. And right during the session, I was drafted into the army. An officer. Into the tank. For 2 years.
They were sent to serve in the city of Naro-Fominsk, which the deputy chief of the battalion called only Naro de Janeiro.
The officer's family has a separate room. And after the birth of our daughter, this room was given to us. The house is on 3 brick floors, with wooden staircases at the entrance. Of the "amenities" there was only a toilet with tiny, as in a carriage, wash basin. No bath, no shower, no hot water. Therefore, hot water was constantly heated on the stove, which was necessary for the successful rearing of the baby. This was the era of gauze diapers, their constant washing-drying-ironing. The word "diapers" did not yet exist in the young Soviet republic. But they did not have long before them.
The apartment had 3 rooms, in one of which we settled. We lived together and quite happily. A lieutenant's pay of 250 re was enough for almost everything.
The rest of the rooms were inhabited by neighbors. In the smallest lived a certain quiet Viktor Vasilyevich, who worked as a plumber in the divisional apartment service. His work took place mainly in basements. He did not drink or smoke. I hardly left my room at home. Once, thinking that I was alone in the apartment, I turned on the music. When the song ended, there was a polite knock at the door. I immediately turned it down and opened the door. It was a neighbor. I started to explain something that I didn’t know that I was not alone and therefore allowed myself the maximum volume. But Viktor Vasilyevich, not listening to me, asked: “And this is what was playing? What an interesting rhythm there .. ". Bruce Springsteen, I say. "And turn it on again .."
Viktor Vasilievich was ... a composer. I will definitely tell his story. This requires a separate story with its own mood.
But another neighbor, or rather a neighbor, was the sultry woman Natalya Maslova. She didn't work anywhere. Her main occupation and specialty was drunkenness. She was engaged in this hard work not alone, but with her visiting friend, the khakhal Vanya. Vanya was a well-established upright Pithecanthropus and was never seen sober. His face did not know a meaningful expression. When trying to construct any phrase, he experienced extreme torment. The mat and the universal "this" helped out. Natalia had a large vocabulary, but she did not use it often, being content with Vanyushka's zoolinguistics. For myself, I called them "honored drunks of the republic."
Their daily routine was something like: waking up, fixing broken furniture, going outside, buying booze, walking the streets, chatting with colleagues like themselves. When a solid colloquium of humanoid like-minded people gathered on the street, heralding an imminent start. Natalya with a string bag of purchased nectar, imperceptibly disappeared, arrived home, locked herself and, as I understand it, started alone. After some Vanya appeared for a while and, with a sad resentment, began to hammer into the closed door. Natalya responded to the knocks with the same phrase, pronounced with the same intonation: "Get out of here!"
But Vanya knew his own menevr, his close target, and continued to knock. With full swing, open palm in the middle of the locked door. "Get out of here!" Knock on the door. "Get out of here!" More. "Get out of here!" ...
Usually a dozen beats were enough to the intonationally and rhythmically impeccable accompaniment "Get out of here!"
Finally, the emaciated body of the door could not stand it and fell flat, as if the hinges were located not on the side of the jamb, but on the floor.
This was followed by a short retaliation of one force or another, accompanied by female screams and a victorious roar male body.
But across For 10-15 minutes they were already singing a perky song, the violence ended, there was full agreement, goodwill. Lyubof ..
This went on from day to day. And when my daughter was born, I had to do something about it. I was home a little, leaving at half past five in the morning and returning by midnight, when they had already calmed down. Somehow it turned out to be a rare day off and I managed to watch and listen to all this bright and dazzling show from start to finish. An attempt to tell them something intelligent, like - “Could you please be a little quieter, otherwise the baby can't sleep” was ignored. At that moment, the last "Get out of here!"
The next day I went on guard and returned a day later. The plan of the necessary actions had matured, had been thought out and was awaiting its speedy implementation. I didn't hand over my service pistol to the gun shop. This, of course, is a serious violation. But I thought of everything and no one noticed anything.
I came home that moment when there was no one in the apartment. The wife walked with the stroller in the street, and the neighbors went to the store.
But what should have happened - happened, in no way deviating from the established order of events ...
And that's when the next one hit “Get out of here!” I opened my door. In my hand I held my PM. Vanya at this time was swinging for the next blow. "Vanya," I said without raising my voice, "I'll kill you right now." Something in my tone and gaze completely convinced him that it would be so. Then he noticed also a pistol ...
... The silence that I had obtained fell in our apartment. The neighbors tried not to catch my eye. It was firmly stated to my wife in the kitchen: "Oh, Lenka, well, your man is a bastard, he almost banged Vanka, and you also feed him ..."
Once Natalya loudly decided to start a new life. The floor in the common hallway was cleaned, water was poured into a mayonnaise jar and an onion was installed. Having looked with satisfaction at what she had done, she said with satisfaction: "There will be a bow by November!" The beginning of a new life did not contain any other measures.
Neighbor Viktor Vasilyevich, about whom I will tell you more, after important events in his life left this apartment. Another family immediately moved into his room. Husband, just "leaning back from the kichi", his wife, who worked as a janitor, and their newborn baby. Housewarming was celebrated in the evening. Vanya and Natalia were invited. I was at home and through the wall I heard what was happening there. It all ended in a fight. Natalya climbed to fight her, not forgiving Vanya that he poured not her first. Cologne ...
After my demobilization, I learned that Vanyushka had killed Natalya after all.
And our life goes on, but somewhere in the environment, in associations, in our ears it sometimes sounds doomed this is "Get out of here!"