Сергей Огольцов – The Sweets At Dawn (страница 3)
At the second-to-last desk, directly in front of Skull-Ogoltsoff’s one, sat Vadik Kubarev, languishing in loneliness. The situation immediately morphed into our triple alliance.
In essence, surnames are so artificial that only teachers use them. In a real-life setting where normal people interact, Skull would become 'Skully'. Kubarev would quite predictably be turned into 'Kuba', and so on.
What kind of nickname did I get? 'Golly' or 'Golts'?
Logically, neither, naturally. If your first name is 'Sehrguey,' no one will bother with your last name. Immediately and automatically, you're 'Gray' to everyone…
Friendship is strength.
When there are three of us, even Sasha Dryga doesn't push too hard…
Friendship is knowledge.
I shared examples of poetry that were never included in the compulsory secondary education curriculum. Nevertheless, every kid in the Block at the Object knew them by heart. Here you have 'The ficuses fakir lover… ', and 'While the light in the pub was on… ', and 'Vanka the Kholui traveled to the fair…', as well as other short and punchy examples of rhymed folklore…
As part of a cultural and educational exchange, my friends conveyed to me the meaning of such established Konotop expressions as 'You’re on the run from Romny?' or 'It's time to get you to Romny.'
The city of Romny (70 km from Konotop towards Sumy, the regional capital) served as the location of a mental hospital for nuts from all over the region.
~ ~ ~
That morning, the clink of Bittoks against kopecks died away.
On that clear April morning, the boys stood and argued, and no one was listening.
All were waiting for confirmation of the happy rumor about the mistake Central Television had made in the news program the previous night.
A stupid mistake. Because one boy had heard from some boys of School No. 10 that yesterday evening someone had parachuted into the Sarnavsky Forest, on the northeastern outskirts of Konotop.
And soon Sasha Rodionenko, aka Radya, would arrive from the City, where he had recently moved with his parents but still attended our school.
Don't yell! When Radya arrives, he'll confirm it; they should know it in the City.
I remembered Gagarin's flight. Or how, soon after, German Titov orbited all day, and in the evening said, 'Good night, everyone. I'm going to bed.' And Father giggled delightedly and said to the wall radio, 'Wow, SOBs!'
Our cosmonauts were always first. We, the younger schoolkids, would shout to each other to prove who among us was the first to hear the radio announcement about the flight of Popovich, or Nikolayev, or the first female cosmonaut, Tereshkova…
Sasha Rodionenko arrived, but didn't confirm anything. So it was true. And the Vremya program wasn't mistaken at all.
And the sun dimmed in mourning…
Cosmonaut Vladimir Komarov…
In the descending module…
Upon re-entry into the dense layers of the atmosphere…
Perished…
~ ~ ~
Then Father arrived, and a week later, the container with our Object things was brought to the Freight Station. From there, a flatbed truck delivered it to the gates of Nezhin Street No. 19.
They were scattered all over the yard. From the gate to Pilyuta's earthen cellar: the wardrobe with a mirror on the door, a fold-out sofa bed, two armchairs with yellow-varnished armrests, a television, and all sorts of other utensils. The old-fashioned davenport with its leatherette back also arrived, but they didn't even bother to bring it into the house—there was no room to lodge it in.
(… all my feelings can be summed up in a few words—'boundless horror', at just the thought: how could ten people—two families plus Grandma Katya—have managed to fit and live in one kitchen and one room for years?
But I didn't think about any of that back then, because if this is our home, and we live the way we do, it couldn't be any other way. Everything is going as it should, I live here, that's all, what's so hard to understand?…)
At night, my brother and I would lie down on the fold-out sofa, Natasha across our feet. She'd stretch her legs out on a chair pulled right up under them. Ours, mine and Sasha's, had to be pulled up almost to our chins, otherwise my sister would start a grumble in the dark snitching to the parents (both in their own bed against the wall opposite) that we were kicking.
Holly crap! She can stretch her legs as far as she wants, but if I suggest we switch places—she and I—she just turns up her nose…
The Arkhipenko family and Baba Katya slept in the kitchen…
. .. .
Parallel to Nezhin Street, about three hundred meters away, ran Profession Street. A street with only one side.
In place of the other, there stretched an endless wall of high concrete slabs, protecting the Konotop Locomotive and Carriage Repair Plant. However, in casual conversation, this anomalously endless name was replaced by the short and sweet-sounding 'KeLCeaRP'.
It was the plant (formerly the Mechanical Workshops) that caused the outskirts of Konotop, stretched up to the Under-Overpass, being named the KeLCeaRP Settlement. In colloquial parlance, it was more simply known as 'the Settlement.'
On the other side of the Plant, a similar concrete slab wall separated it from the numerous tracks of the Konotop Passenger Station, as well as from the adjacent Freight Station, where long freight trains waited their turn to depart in their various directions, as Konotop is a major railway hub.
Freight trains not only waited, but were also formed in Konotop. For this purpose, the Freight Station had a marshalling yard—an embankment with a gentle tilt, several meters higher than the rest of the tracks. A shunting locomotive pulled a string of freight flatcars and cars up the tilt, from which, up above, they uncoupled as many as needed, and the cars rolled back down pulled by the gravity’s law.
The released sections of the string rolled off individually or in coupled bands. Railroad switches redirected them to the correct tracks at the marshalling junctions. The newly arrived rolling stock components, screeching with their iron brake shoes, thudded heavily against the already sorted cars, accompanied by the chaotic cries of loudspeakers blaring from concrete pillars the number of the completed train on such-and-such a marshalling track.
However, in daylight, the symphony of the freight yard wasn't too invasive. Its working pulse stood out much more clearly in the stillness of the night, as the other work and everyday noises related to daylight hours faded…
Regardless of the time of day or night, when the wind blew from Popovka (a village opposite the western outskirts), the air was filled with the characteristic aroma of the local distillery's waste.
An anonymous sentimentalist, among the residents of the Settlement, dubbed this atmospheric phenomenon 'Popovka's Greetings.' It sounds no worse than 'Red Moscow', and much tenderer than ‘Hugo Boss’…
The stench isn't killing outright, but it's best not to sniff it. In any case, a runny nose on days like these is a godsend.
- Again! You smell that greeting from Popovka?
- Bby ddose is ruddding…
- Damn, you’re a lucky part!
. .. .
Nezhin Street was connected to Profession Street by a network of narrow lanes.
Foundry Lane was the first in a series of connecting transport arteries (counting from School No. 13), since it originally led to a former foundry on the factory grounds, but was later hidden behind the concrete wall. Next came Forge Lane, offering a clear view of the tall brick smokestack of the factory forge (on the other side of the aforementioned wall).
Then, branching off from Nezhin Street (this was after passing our khata in No. 19), was Gogol Lane, despite the impossibility of spotting the great classic on either side of the concrete wall of the Factory.
The three streets mentioned above possessed a certain straightness, but the subsequent alleys, before and after the Nezhin Store, were a tangle of disordered confusion. Unraveling, they eventually led to the concrete of the same factory fence, provided one was generally familiar with navigating the alleys, skerries, and fjords…
. .. .
The Nezhin Store earned its name by being located on Nezhin Street. It was the largest of three stores in the Settlement. The smaller ones were referred to by their numbers…
The Nezhin Store comprised a single-story, but tall, brick building. Its backyard remained just a gateless shortcut, but it did have storage sheds.
The store consisted of four departments, each with its own door to the street. Tin signs, faded by time, above the doors indicated where to go for what: 'Bread', 'Industrial Goods', 'Grocery', and 'Fish and Vegetables'.
'Bread' (the first door from the left corner) opened in the morning and stayed open until the loaves of white bread and ‘bricks’ of dark bread were sold out. Having fulfilled the purpose stated by its sign, the department quietly locked the door to its empty shelves. In the afternoon, upon the arrival of a tin-covered van from the Konotop Bakery, with the word 'BREAD' written on its side, bringing the next batch of loaves, the department was forced to reopen. For an hour and a half.