–
– There is a statement – "There is nothing more terrible and exhausting than waiting and catching up." And perhaps this is not something that we should unreservedly agree with. But, at the same time, Amalia Appolinarevna fully confirmed her fatigue, this simple view. She fell asleep right by the phone, wrapped in a shawl beaten by a mole, by the way, than untied her hands to her son, who was drunk in the garages of the Barvinok cooperative. But neither the intoxication of the son, nor the drowsiness of the mother, failed to prevent the search for Icelandic moss, growing like a snowball.
– – Alie, is this Finland? Is this Moisha Tilman?
– "No Slom, it's not him." This has long been Mikko Tilmanen.
– – Do not be so joking, your nose I'll see even because of this line, otgo Mannerheim. Tell me more sho you whitefin?
– – Not whitefinch, but in our Valkoiset [3]. And I'm not one of them, but I smell the parchment Punikki for 100 versts. – Well, and how Mika, you have it from Helsinki?
– – Tolerant.
– – And this is how?
– "It's okay, it's full but cold."
– "And how intolerant is tada?"
– – It's like their red Petrozavodsk – it's cold, hungry, and also crap.
– – And what about the Finns?
– "What about the Finns?" Finns, like me, are too measured people. Until they decide to go to Oslo, I'm already halfway there, near Stockholm.
– – No. I ask did they give you a passport?
– – And then, how! On my brownish little book it is clearly written – Suomi.
– "So you're a real Finn."
– That! With a slide! It remains to Toko to start playing at the hockey.
– – Oh, hockey is scary, there can knock out a mustache teeth!
– – Tada give the hockey grandfather Solomon, him to take out the false jaw and he is a ready hockey player. And if you hold it for a couple of days without a laxative, it's just a beast!
– – I imagine! I think that against the grandfather of Solomon, without a laxative, even Canadians will not come out, with their Halls, Orrs and other Esposites.
– – So, that's understandable. A sho calling? Do you want to send me a soto to Santa Claus? From Helsinki to Lapland, to the lair of Joulupukki, only five months on reindeer. I can drive.
– – And can you drive Iceland?
– – Do not understand?
– -No, nothing personal, I just need Icelandic moss. The one that blooms and smells, Schaub he was healthy and buoyant luxuriant color!
–
– "Is that Liechtenstein?"
– – Yes.
– – That is Vaduz? Well, in the sense of the Principality?
– – Oh, I'm begging you! What is the principality there? Three rooms and two suites, though with a view of the mountains.
– "Wait, is this Liechtenstein?"
– – And outright is right. I am Arkady Moiseevich Liechtenstein. And Monya Vaduz, so you were interested, has long moved to Tel Aviv. And I still do not understand, do you need him or me?
– – Actually, mine needs Icelandic moss.
– – Alie, is this Vancouver?
– – Well, roughly speaking, yes.
– – A sho so?
– – Yes, no, it's nothing, it's just Calgary, and to Vancouver, by steps, by the side of the sea, for 90 days.
–
– – Alie, is this Liverpool?
– – In the morning was Liverpool.
– – So this is Grisha Katsnelson?
– "Well, how can I tell you?"
– – That's how it is.
– – Well, maybe nothing nizya excluded… although this mine Katz, recently, oh, how very tired.
– – Do not understand?
– – I prefer Shob I was called simply Nelson. Without any Katz. And even Grisha does not matter, the ray of Horace.
– "Horace Nelson?" So for this, my dear, you have to win the Battle of Trafalgar! And not at preference.
–
– – Alie, is this Africa?
– "If that's how you feel."
– "Mine does not like this at all." And sho it for your voice, if you fell a balcony on your head?
– – If only the balcony! For a long time, my best feelings, this is kada, I take a laxative together with sleeping pills. In the morning, of course, a lot of washing, but I feel like a young cheetah.
– – You know, I still do not think sho on the streets of Cape Town you will be allowed to travel at a speed of 120 kilometers per hour. Especially since I heard that there is a more effective way for an African to get rid of constipation.
– – Anu, surprise me, very interesting?
– "Since you are in Africa, it would be salutary to see a rhino in the savanna, especially if you are alone with one and without a gun."
– "Without a gun?"
– "Well, do not be a rhinoceros!" Hocha in your case, the grenade launcher will not help either.
– – And sho?
– "Sho?!" Constipation as a hand will remove, right on the spot! By the way at the expense of health. I sho call, I still need Icelandic moss.
–
– – Alie, is this Luxembourg?
– – A sho is this?!
– "That's what I asked!"
– – No, the mine is accentuated, a little sooner Luxembourg?!!!
At the moment when the evening twilight fell on the garage cooperative, and the slumber of Sliva for one hour, as they were taken to the hospital with a head injury, the drunken inhabitants of the glorious 13th boxing, were divided into groups of interests. Pif, no longer able to get up from the stroller, cursed his material, in the most rude form of imperialist vultures, to whom he never and for no reason will give a single calculation of what he himself personally has done, as well as his fellow-workers by Soviet designers. Not for any money, under any circumstances! He waved a sheet of Whatman folded four times in front of the nose of Vittorio, Navalyaev, as well as Aftogen, for some reason caught, this evening, "on the other side of the barricade," in the team of the conventional adversary. Afonya and Nakhalyavushkin proved each other to the Granitolevich brothers, as well as to Carburetor, who constantly doubted about the secret of the crash that he had solved on March 27, 1968 and the death of Yuri Gagarin, the impossibility of the victory of their Fisher, our great chess genius Boris Spassky. Which, in fact, did not cause a single objection either from Valentin, from Dermantin, or even from the unyielding Kolyan. The heated debate around the chess game for the title of world champion, which soon surpassed the status of a legend, who reached the hearing of those who did not take part in the discussion, caused unprecedented emotions and interest from Pyth, Vittorio and Autogen. Only Navalyayev, remained unperturbed, indulging in contemplation of the incipient whirlwind of discussions.
Here, probably, it would be worth to remind the amiable reader some details of the outstanding event, called the match for the title of the world chess champion of 1972, between the then champion and the Soviet citizen Boris Vasilievich Spassky and the American challenger Robert James Fisher. (No wonder Vladimir Vysotsky devoted several songs to this fact.) Undoubtedly, this match was a challenge to the whole chess world, since since 1948 all champions were citizens of the Soviet Union: 6th Mikhail Botvinnik, 7th Vasily Smyslov, 8th Mikhail Tal, 9th Tehran Petrosyan and the 10th, mentioned by us, Boris Spassky. The match, in which the representatives of the USSR and the USA met at the height of the Cold War, was repeatedly called the "match of the century" in the Western press of that time. The prize fund of the match for the first time in the history of chess was $ 250,000! "Match of the Century" is indeed the most memorable chess event in history, as it was the personification of the confrontation of the USSR against the United States. This duel is associated with numerous scandals and intrigues, espionage games and interesting battles, both on the chess board and behind its side-chapels. What is only a quote from one of the Soviet officials, flashed in the press – "As an intellectual premature Fisher, who does not even have a secondary education, could have encroached on the property of the Soviet Union – the chess crown?!" Funny, is not it? It would be interesting to hear what the opinion of this gentleman was after Mr. Fisher won the crown. After all, it turns out that the half-hearted and insignificant Bobby Fisher managed to beat 23-times champion of the Soviet Union, winner of many international tournaments Mark Taimanov, as well as the 9th world champion, international grandmaster, honored master of sports of the USSR, candidate Philosophical sciences, four-time champion of the USSR, three-time champion of Moscow – Tigran Petrosyan.
– But how many do not roam about the guests, it's nice to go home, so let's go and we, back to our history. In a noisy booth, not to the smallest detail, perhaps, therefore, none of the immediate participants in the feast and raging discussion paid attention to the shadow growing on the threshold of the 13th garage.
– "What about Peugeot?" Peugeot, and sho…
– I heard Valery's usual statements-questions. Stooping figure, measuring an indifferent look stormily and noisily triumphant, went to the next box, where, on the "charge", there was a huge battery. With knowledge, Valerik twisted a black plastic pen on the charger, then, obviously, remaining satisfied with his actions, went to bed right next to the gate, on the torn awning from GAZik, embracing a furry guard, a garage dog named Kolbas. Sensing the feast, the huge male was slumbering between the gates of the 13th and 14th boxes, hoping for generous treats, which was not a curiosity for a dog that settled down in a place so corrupt as a garage cooperative.
– It was already light when, in the disorder reigning in the thirteenth box, a certain decrease in activity was noticed: old Pif fell asleep in his wheelchair, laying under his head a four-fold sheet of whatman; The brothers Granitolevich, like akin to the newborn, leaning on the welding machine, taking from two sides in the ring of Evpatiy, measured sniffles in the corner of the garage; Kolya the Carburetor went out into the air, causing his snoring sound to come from the open gate. Unlike many, Afonya and Nahalyavushkin kept quite staunchly. Sitting on canisters, with glasses in their hands, they, if I may say so, talked – incoherently, but categorically proving to each other something that has neither essence, meaning nor subject of discussion. Very drunk Navalyayev was about to crawl home, but Vittorio, asleep on his shoulder, and also suddenly speaking Autogen, clearly involuntarily violated his plans. Afinogen Artemievich Kutsenko, having drunk too much, suddenly became a philosopher, already a broken hour, telling Kallistrat that our hero could not understand anything.
– "Just think, Callistrato, they are like people." Solid "Buicks", sorry, always breaks off the language of sedition. This means, of course, our "ZIM", that is, GAZ-12 – a Soviet six-seater six-window long-base large sedan, mass produced at the Gorky Automobile Plant. By the way, for those who do not know, he is a plant named after Comrade Molotov.
– Navalyaev nodded dutifully.
– "Any crap, my friend, was produced here and there." Here's to take a proud and in something opel-captained "Victory", even in the recent past the flagship of Soviet engineering. Quite an Opel-Cadet "Muscovites", gorbatenkie "Fiato-Zaporozhtsy", and with a claim to the swagginess of the "Volga". All of them with their own destinies, stories and troubles. Some are exhausted by a multitude of taxi drivers, barbarians, changing behind the wheel and not sparing poor cars. Other sleek and beloved, well-groomed and from that sparkling with chrome, warm
Cozy garages. Think about it! Some for a year "ran" no more than 10 thousand, others "winded" half a million. How lucky…
At this moment Vittorio woke up.
– Oh, come mi sento male…
– I'm sorry, what?
– I say, my head is very sore. How do you drink this muck?! And why are not the sentences for the death penalty due to the use of this rubbish?
– So we have a mache shot.
Aftogen was indignant.
– Well, yes, the shooting is much more humane.
The Italian looked gloomily at the "battlefield", stopping his gaze on Navalyaev.
– And yet you have an amazingly beautiful hat.
– Oh, let me teach you. Now we'll do it together, and you'll have a memory.
– And regalo [4], for memory! After all, I have a gift for you.
While Vittorio was looking in his pockets, Navalyaev began to search for a suitable sheet of paper in order to teach the guest how to fold the caps like the one that crowned his crown. Not finding anything worthy of his attention, he reached for the sheet of Whatman that lay under the head of the old man Cardupa. The very one who peep shore is the apple of the eye. At that very moment, Vittorio found in his pocket gifts – a keychain company "FIAT", as well as a car air freshener with the smell of lemon, which usually clings in the salon to the rear-view mirror.
– It is for you…
He solemnly handed over a freshener to Aftogen, after which he presented the key chain to Callistratus Ippolitovich.
"Thank you, Comrade Vittorio…"
Naraylyaev said, accepting the gift gratefully.
– And now look and remember…
At this time, Aftogen, having unpacked the fragrant flavor, waved half a glass of moonshine, biting the cardboard with the smell of orange.
– Сiò che si fa [5]?! It's not allowed! This is not eaten!
– Oh really…
The motorist waved him away, scornfully masticating the cardboard.
"… and not such a snack."
The old man spat, pouring himself another.
"Your mandarins are shit…"
– … incredibile [6]…
Scrambling, as if swallowed ruff, whispered the Italian, looking in amazement at how Aftogen muffled the synthetic taste of lemon moonshine. Not without difficulties, his attention was able to attract Navalyayev, pulling at the sleeve of the astonished guest.