Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol
Yuri Aramovich Avakyan
DEAD SOULS
Poem
To the reader
Dear friend!
The book you are holding in your hands now is the book of extraordinary Destiny. On the night of Tuesday from February 11 to 12, 1852, the fire destroyed the pages of the manuscript of the second volume of Dead Souls, turning the paper on which it was written into ashes, and the contents of the manuscript into a secret that has occupied more than one generation of readers for more than 140 years. and researchers of the work of Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol.
Only the first chapter of the manuscript, part of the second chapter, the third chapter, and fragments of the fourth and final chapters, of which there should have been eleven, survived in the fire. Of course, the remaining parts of the ingenious text made it possible to speculate about what exactly should have happened on the pages of the second volume of the poem, as well as the memoirs of contemporaries who were lucky enough to be present when Nikolai Vasilyevich read individual chapters of the volume he was preparing for publication, but nevertheless less it was a Loss, irreparable and bitter. Loss equal to tragedy, equal to catastrophe, for the world art culture lost in that distant winter night one of its outstanding monuments.
Therefore, we faced an unusually difficult task - to recreate the text of the second volume of "Dead Souls", carefully preserving both the style and language of the author. immortal work; making the most of fragments original text, those that Providence has preserved for us and relying, as far as possible, on the memoirs of Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol's friends.
Today we can say that the book has been recreated. Seven of its chapters have been rewritten, those that fire did not spare at one time, the missing fragments of the second, fourth and final eleventh chapter have been completed, and Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov is again ready to meet you, dear reader. We hope that this meeting will bring you joy, as it brought joy to us, because this book is a tribute to our immense admiration for the work of a great Man, admiration for his memory and our dream come true.
Yuri Avakyan
CHAPTER FIRST
Why, then, portray poverty, yes poverty, and the imperfection of our life, digging people out of the wilderness, from the remote nooks and crannies of the state? What to do if the writer is already of such a nature, and, having fallen ill with his own imperfection, he can no longer depict anything else but poverty, and poverty, and the imperfection of our life, digging people out of the wilderness, from the remote back streets of the state. And here again we got into the wilderness, again we stumbled upon a nook and cranny.
But what a wilderness and what a nook!
Like a gigantic rampart of some endless fortress, with corners and loopholes, the mountain elevations meandered for more than a thousand versts. They rose magnificently over the endless expanses of the plains, now broken, in the form of sheer walls, of a calcareous-clay property, striated with grooves and ruts, then pretty round green bulges, covered, like lambs, with young shrubs rising from cut down trees, then, finally, dark thick forests, miraculously still surviving from the ax. The river, true to its banks, gave knees and turns along with them, then went away into the meadows, then, twisting there in several twists, flash like fire before the sun, hide in the groves of birches, aspens and alders and run out from there. in triumph, accompanied by bridges, mills and dams, as if chasing her at every turn.
In one place the steep side of the hills retracted thicker into the green curls of the trees. By artificial plantation, due to the unevenness of the mountainous ravine, the north and south of the vegetable kingdom came together here. Oak, spruce, wood pear, maple, cherry and blackthorn, chiliga and mountain ash, entangled in hops, then helping a friend<другу>in growth, then drowning each other, climbed all over the mountain, from bottom to top. At the top, at its very crown, the red covers of the master's buildings, the ridges and ridges behind the hidden huts, the upper superstructure were mixed with their green tops. master's house with a carved balcony and a large semicircular window. And above all this collection of trees and roofs, the old village church towered above all with its five gilded, playful tops. On all its heads there were gold slotted crosses, approved by gold slotted chains, so that from afar it seemed that gold was hanging in the air, unsupported by anything, sparkling with hot gold coins. And all this in an overturned form, tops, covers, crosses down, was pretty reflected in the river, where ugly hollow willows, some standing near the banks, others completely in the water, lowering their branches and leaves there, just as they looked at this wonderful image, where only their slimy bodyaga with floating bright green of yellow jugs did not interfere.
The view was very good, but the top down view from the top of the house in the distance was even better. No guest or visitor could stand indifferently on the balcony. He was breathless with amazement, and he only cried out: “Lord, how spacious it is here!” Spaces opened without end, without limits. Behind the meadows, dotted with groves and watermills, forests grew green in several green belts; behind the forests, through the air, which was already beginning to become hazy, the sands turned yellow - and again the forests, already blue, like seas or fog that spread far; and again the sands, even paler, but still turning yellow. In the distant sky, chalk mountains lay like a crest, shining white even in rainy times, as if illuminated by the eternal sun. On their dazzling whiteness, at the soles, in places flashed, as it were, smoking misty gray spots. These were remote villages; but I couldn't see them human eye. Only the spark of the golden church dome flaring up in the sunlight made it clear that it was a crowded place. big village. All this was clothed in unperturbed silence, which was not awakened even by the echoes of aerial singers that were barely reaching the ear, disappearing in the spaces. The guest, who was standing on the balcony, and after some two hours of contemplation, could not utter anything else, as soon as: “Lord, how spacious it is here!”
Who was the tenant and owner of this village, to which, as to an impregnable fortress, it was impossible to drive up from here, but it was necessary to drive up from the other side, where scattered oaks greeted the approaching guest affably, placing wide open branches, like a friendly embrace, and seeing off it to the face of that very house, whose top we saw from behind and which now stood all there, having on one side a row of huts, showing skates and carved combs, and on the other, a church, shining with gold crosses and gold cut designs of chains hanging in the air? Which lucky man belonged to this nook?
To the landowner of the Tremalakhani district, Andrey Ivanovich Tentetnikov, a young thirty-three-year-old lucky man and, moreover, an unmarried man.
Who is he, what is he, what qualities, what properties is a person? Neighbors, readers, neighbors should be asked. The neighbor, who belonged to the surname of the dexterous, now completely disappearing, retired staff officers of the firewalls, spoke of him with the expression: "The most natural cattle!" The general, who lived ten miles away, said: “The young man is not stupid, but he took a lot into his head. I could be useful to him, because I have connections in St. Petersburg, and even with ... ”- the general did not finish his speech. The police captain gave such a turn to the answer: “[But the chink on it is rubbish] - but I’m going to him tomorrow for arrears!” The peasant of his village did not answer the question about what kind of master they had. Therefore, the opinion about him was unfavorable.
It is fair to say that he was not bad man, he's just a smoker of the sky. Since there are already quite a few people in the world who smoke the sky, why shouldn't Tentetnikov also smoke it? However, here is a day from his life, completely similar to all others, and let the reader judge for himself what character he had and how his life corresponded to the beauties that surrounded him.
Editorial responseFebruary 24, 1852 Nikolay Gogol burned the almost finished second volume of Dead Souls, on which he had been working for more than 10 years. The story itself was originally conceived by Gogol as a trilogy. In the first volume, the adventurer Chichikov, traveling through Russia, encountered only human vices, in the second part, fate brought the protagonist together with some positive characters. In the third volume, which was never written, Chichikov had to go through exile in Siberia and finally embark on the path of moral purification.
AiF.ru tells why Gogol burned the second volume of "Dead Souls" and what adventures in the continuation of the story were to happen to Chichikov.
Why did Gogol burn the second volume of Dead Souls?
Most likely, Gogol burned the second volume of Dead Souls by accident. AT last years In his life, the writer felt constant weakness in his body, but instead of being treated, he continued to exhaust his body with strict observance of religious fasts and exhausting labor. In one of the letters to poet Nikolai Yazykov Gogol wrote: “My health has become rather poor ... Nervous anxious anxiety and different signs perfect unsticking all over the body frighten me myself. It is possible that this “sticking up” prompted the writer on the night of February 24 to throw the manuscripts into the fireplace and then set them on fire with his own hands. The servant witnessed this scene Semyon, who persuaded the master to spare the papers. But he only rudely replied: “None of your business! Pray!On the morning of the next day, Gogol, struck by his act, lamented his friend Count Alexander Tolstoy: "That's what I did! I wanted to burn some things that had long been prepared for that, but I burned everything. How strong the evil one is - that's what he moved me to! And I was there a lot of practical clarified and outlined ... I thought to send to friends as a keepsake from a notebook: let them do what they wanted. Now everything is gone."
Gogol claimed that he wanted to burn only drafts and unnecessary papers, and the second volume of Dead Souls was sent to the fireplace due to his oversight. Nine days after this fatal mistake the writer has died.
What is the second volume of Dead Souls about?
Gogol's letters and the remaining drafts allow us to restore the approximate content of some parts of the burnt manuscript. The second volume of "Dead Souls" begins with a description of the estate of Andrei Ivanovich Tentetnikov, whom the author calls "the smoker of the sky." An educated and fair person, due to laziness and lack of willpower, drags out a meaningless existence in the village. Tentetnikov's fiancee, Ulinka, is the daughter of a neighboring general, Betrishchev. It is she who becomes "a ray of light in dark kingdom story: “If a transparent picture suddenly flared up in a dark room, lit from behind by a lamp, it would not have struck like this figurine, shining with life, which appeared exactly to light up the room ... It was difficult to say what land she was born in . Such a pure, noble outline of the face could not be found anywhere, except perhaps only on some ancient cameos, ”Gogol describes it this way. Tentetnikov, according to Gogol's plan, was to be convicted for participation in an anti-government organization, and his lover would follow him to hard labor. Then, in the third volume of the trilogy, these heroes had to go through exile in Siberia along with Chichikov.
Further, according to the plot of the second volume, Chichikov meets the bored landowner Platonov and, having incited him to travel together in Russia, goes to the master Kostanzhoglo, who is married to Platonov's sister. He talks about the ways of managing, by which he increased the income from the estate tenfold, which Chichikov is terribly inspired by. Shortly thereafter, Chichikov, having borrowed money from Platonov and Kostanjoglo, is trying to buy the estate from the ruined landowner Khlobuev.On the "border line" between good and evil in the second volume of the story, the financier Afanasy Murazov suddenly appears. He wants to spend 40 million rubles earned by him not in the most honest way on “saving Russia”, but his ideas are more reminiscent of sectarian ones.
In the surviving drafts of the end of the manuscript, Chichikov is found in the city at a fair, where he buys fabric of a lingonberry color so dear to him with a spark. He runs into Khlobuev, whom, apparently, he “gave up”, either by depriving, or almost depriving him of his estate by forgery. Murazov saves Chichikov from continuing an unpleasant conversation, who convinces the ruined landowner of the need to work and determines him to raise funds for the church. Meanwhile, denunciations are being found against Chichikov both about forgery and about dead souls. However, the help of the corrupt official Samosvistov and the intercession of Murazov allow the hero to avoid prison.
Cameo - jewel or jewelry made in the technique of bas-relief on precious or semi-precious stones.
Poem (this genre of his work was designated by the author) N.V. Gogol's Dead Souls is one of classical works Russian literature. And the story that happened with the second volume of this work is known even to those who have never opened the first volume. Literary scholars (despite disagreements about the “strength” or “weakness” of the second volume) agree on one thing - the destruction by Gogol of the second volume of Dead Souls that he had already written is one of the most serious losses in our literature. The question: Why did the gogol burn the second volume of Dead Souls?", - arose immediately after the incident, and there is still no single and unequivocal answer to it. Yes, and with the burning itself, everything is not clear. As they say, was there a boy?
Version one: Gogol did not burn anything, since the second volume of Dead Souls did not exist
This version relies on the fact that no one has seen the finished manuscript of the second volume of the poem, and the only witness to the burning was Gogol's servant Semyon. It is from his words that we know what happened that night. Allegedly, the writer ordered Semyon to bring a briefcase in which notebooks with the continuation of Dead Souls were kept. Gogol put the notebooks in the fireplace and set fire to them with a candle, and to the servant’s pleas not to destroy the manuscript he said: “None of your business! Pray! Semyon, on the other hand, was quite young, illiterate and could well spin nonsense (if it is simple). This version is not taken seriously by most researchers. The surviving drafts of the work and the testimonies of contemporaries give grounds to assert that the "white" version did exist.
Version two: Gogol burned the drafts, and the manuscript of the second volume of Dead Souls came (after the death of the writer) to Count A.P. Tolstoy, with whom Gogol lived at that time.
This version is also based on the unreliability of the testimony of Semyon's servant and is also considered unlikely. A. Tolstoy had no reason to hide the manuscript, but even if he had done so, the manuscript would certainly have "surfaced" since then.
Version three: Gogol really burned the second volume of Dead Souls, as he was dissatisfied with it and was in a clouded state of mind.
This version seems to be more likely mental health the writer at that moment was far from brilliant. Gogol suffered from seizures from childhood, accompanied by melancholy and depression. In January 1852, E. Khomyakova, the wife of Gogol's friend, died, and this event had an extremely detrimental effect on the writer. The writer was tormented by the constant fear of death, and his confessor urged him to give up literary work, which Gogol himself considered his only vocation. Of course, it is difficult to make diagnoses now, but it is obvious that the writer's mind was, if not clouded, then on the verge of clouding. It is likely that in a fit of self-flagellation, he could consider his work insignificant and not deserving to be published. However, dominating this moment considered a different version.
Version four: Gogol wanted to burn the drafts, however, being in a state of complete mental exhaustion, he confused them with the white version.
It is believed that Semyon's story, if not absolutely accurate, is close to the truth, but the writer had no intention of burning the final version. Supporters of this version cite Gogol's words, which he said the next morning to Count Tolstoy: "That's what I did! I wanted to burn some things that had been prepared for a long time, but I burned everything. How strong the crafty one is - that's what he pushed me to! And I was there I figured out and explained a lot of useful things ... I thought about sending them to my friends as a keepsake from a notebook: let them do what they wanted. Now everything is gone. " It is also believed that in general, with the exception of moments of depression, Gogol was pleased with what he wrote. Although when working on the second volume, the significance of the work in the writer's mind grew beyond the boundaries of the literary texts which made the idea practically unrealizable.
Despite the fact that Gogol burned the manuscript final version the second volume of the poem, rough notes remain. At present, the most complete manuscript of the first five chapters of the second volume belongs to an American businessman Russian origin Timur Abdullayev. She had to enter complete collection works and letters of the writer, published in 2010, but for unknown reasons this did not happen. Nevertheless, the question: "Why did Gogol burn the second volume of Dead Souls" is not completely resolved, although there is the most probable version.
"Dead Souls" - landmark work in the work of Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol. In it, he wanted to show Russia without embellishment, with its problems and shameful sins. Gogol himself valued his work very highly and assigned to it great expectations hoping to convey their thoughts, sincere experiences to the people. However, only the first volume was published. The writer destroyed the second volume. Consider further why he burned the second volume of Dead Souls.
The fate of the second volume of "Dead Souls"
I would like to note right away that by the time of work on the second part of his main work, Gogol was in a very difficult state with psychological point vision. Nervous, very difficult in character, distrustful, secretive, Nikolai Vasilyevich lived hard, often was in a state of depression, nervousness.
After the death of one of his close acquaintances (and perhaps not only for this reason), the writer complained to his friends about the manic fear of death that had appeared in him. He felt exhausted, exhausted, began to sleep badly.
On one of these sleepless, tormenting nights from February 11 to 12, 1852, Gogol ordered the young servant Semyon to bring a suitcase with manuscripts to continue the work. After that, the writer threw all the notebooks into a burning fireplace and burned the 2nd volume of Dead Souls.
Later, with colossal bitterness, he will tell his friend, Count Tolstoy, that he destroyed the continuation of the story due to an unforgivable mistake, which the devil seemed to have pushed him into.
In addition, there are other versions of what happened:
- There was no real second part. Gogol never wrote it, and therefore he simply came up with the burning of manuscripts.
- Nikolai Vasilievich could not write such a second part that could compete in genius with the first. Therefore, he decided to destroy the book, not daring to present it to the public.
- Prone to mystification, religious, Gogol considered such an act of burning symbolic, bringing best work his life on the altar of God.
- The emperor ordered him to continue the work. In it, the writer had to show the already sensible, repentant officials. But such an idea contradicted the way the writer himself wanted to present the story, and therefore Gogol burned the second volume of Dead Souls.
- Glory lover, who knows how to attract attention, Nikolai Vasilievich, perhaps, decided to simply add hype to his book. After all, nothing disturbs so much as the unknown. And in this case, his idea was a success, since the treasured second volume is discussed today almost more often than the published work.
Also in some sources you can read that the story was stolen from the writer by ill-wishers, and the story about the burning was invented in order to hide the real truth.
Brother ... - it seems it was male voice. Hoarse from something, perhaps from pain, perhaps moral. But hoarseness does not spoil anything, on the contrary, it gives an unprecedented subtlety to it, embodying the desire to destroy. Exactly. The owner of this timbre can be seen in pain, so much so that anger is transmitted only in the voice. Because he can't do it any other way. For injustice will be done differently.
However, does it matter? It must be so, if deep in the soul, in the case of its presence, it hurts so strongly and at the same time so quietly. Loki wouldn't call it pain, it's... it's more of a different feeling. He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't love his brother. However, he confessed. To yourself. That's right, but that feeling is still raging. What is the feeling? It's not pain. It can't be pain. Because pain feeds on love. And Loki never loved, neither his brother, nor anyone else, in this he is honest with himself. He probably cannot love because of his nature. He accepted God's judgment and lived. Lived until he died. And when he dies, he will live with humility.
Loki did not want to open his eyes, to illuminate Hel with his gaze. Hel, this haven of eternal torment, has waited too long for him, and now it burns to make up for every minute of the plans of fate with its calm. He diligently avoided this writing of God. He avoided, but still ended up where he was destined to be a thousand years ago. And from Hel got out. But this time, he's here forever. Loki will not open his eyes, thereby angering fate, and fate will add to the list of fools. He achieves this. Although… who is he kidding? Why does he keep lying? He is afraid of. Loki is just scared like the most a common person or jotun, he is ready to convulse. He does not know what will happen if he stays and does not run away. And this ignorance is scary.
And Loki is doubly afraid. It's amazing. He was always afraid of one thing. It doesn't matter which one, but only one. In his soul there is no place for two all-consuming feelings. He was either afraid of falling into the eyes of his family, or he was afraid of death. When Loki was afraid of the first, he defeated the second with a stimulus. And when his family fell in his eyes, the second destroyed almost all feelings, be it happiness, anger, misunderstanding. But he did die. It turns out the fear of death is no longer dangerous. But the fear of Hel... And the fear of fear.
Loki used to hold tight to his feelings. Having confessed the absence of love, he did not confess fear. His soul harbored fear, but he did not. Now yes. Loki is afraid of the very thought that he is afraid.
Her eyelashes twitched, her eyelids dug deep into her eyeballs, her cheeks and forehead frowned. This is called closing your eyes. Close your cute eyes, from which a trickle of blood flowed. Because of Thanos? Yes... but it's partly my own fault. I would have saved my skin, as always, I would have said something crazy and left. No. Loki is an idiot. Loki, you idiot! What was it? An attack of heroism? What for? Whose hero did you want to be? Loki would answer these questions if he knew the answer. So he closes his eyes.
Where I am? Who are you? - an unfamiliar voice is heard.
But Loki also looks into the darkness.
If you're lost in Hel, then it's definitely Hel, boy," he replied. He has nothing more to say.
But I have to save... The world from Volan... - he is interrupted. And it is his interlocutor who lies in white that does it.
Wanted to save? Did not work out? Come on, if this is how it has become, then the will of fate, - the young man could hear despair. This revived another fear in Loki. True, insignificant. However, it is enough for him to open his eyes.
The boy, indeed, the boy looked sadly at his surroundings. He was simple, swarthy, with tousled dark hair, curls of which spread unruly wherever possible. And eyes, bottomless green covered with iron shackles. Planted vision, seen.
Most unusual about him is a lightning-shaped scar. Lightning... sad memories that it would be better not to remember.
But… I have to. I can't just die like that. It's just not possible. I... don't believe that... I have come all this way... - he was ready to pour out his soul, burst into tears. And in which case turn Loki into a vest.
I wouldn't believe it either man. All my life I've been lying, I've been lied to, I ended up dying trying not to lie to myself. But could not. It's definitely Hel, and it's impossible to get out of here. And the fact that you died is just possible, - Loki sowed pathos. There was meaning in his words. Not the pain, not the joy from the fact that life is torn here. In fact, he is alive, but he is alive in Hel.
The young man fell down.
I can't... no. I must return. Please help me! - he rips his voice.
Come on, you leave me alone. I need him. I never had it. Even after death, - the truth of the word. Loki had no rest at birth, after he got used to it.
Salty moisture gathered at the corners of the dark one's eyes, his glasses were fogged up, he himself was trembling.
If you are going to cry, then do it away, - he will not be tolerant, - I do not yearn to see your unbecoming man look.
Suddenly, a scream reached their ears. Long and top. Female. The lady screamed, and they watched as she soon touched the ground. The young man was horrified, Loki is not.
Ah! - and the roar is worse than before.
The young man looked blankly at the girl in the top and short skirt. She doesn't exactly look like a suicide bomber. It did not read anxiety and shock from the experience. But they should be if she is so young. Very even beautiful. Red head of hair with an impressive length, blue eyes full of incomprehension. Blue eyes... Loki found similarities in them, yet the difference is huge in form, but if you look closely into the eye, you can recognize drunkenness. No, no, the girl is not drunk, but the one whom Loki recognized in those eyes. Thor does not leave him in Hel either. Nicely.
BUT? Where am I? she asked the expected question.
In Hel, - - the young man narrowed his eyes, apparently knowing something interesting, - Ginny? ..
Ginny, is that you? So you, too? .. - he drooped. He stopped crying, but he sank so much that he would have been better off crying. Loki knew this, many around him become like that. It's like pain, like an animal scratching in the heart.
The girl shook her head negatively. While they had a dialogue, God, the only one here, stood up, shook off the invisible dust, which does not exist. Into a habit.
You can get out of here, but why? Why would Loki get out of here? To once again experience fear? Oh no. Thoughts run into the deepest gorges of escape plans, but Loki will not translate them into reality. Let, thinks, stay there, there is no more sense. How many times has he run away from here? Five? Ten? He's had enough. Returning back, fear again absorbs him with his head. Strange, the soul needs rest.
I am Bloom, dragon flame fairy, Domino princess. I remember how they killed me... Who are you? What kind of place is it? Her voice no longer trembled.
Fairy? Aren't they small? - asked the young man. Because Loki wouldn't care. Knowledge of the varieties of fairies is known to him.
This situation was strange. Definitely. The first experience after the death of two teenagers and most likely the last of God.
No no. These are small pixies. We are saving the world... I did not save him, - now she has drooped too. But she quickly woke up, - You said it was Hel. What is Hel? World?
The place where you go after death, if you are not an Asgardian who fell in battle. This is so, a bonus to the rest, - Loki regained his confidence. - Did you know that after the revival, you can return virginity again?
The young man blushed thickly. He lowered his head and said timidly:
I mean… can you be reborn?
What is virginity? Bloom didn't understand.
Ser... - God was interrupted.
No, answer my question! How to get out of here?! he shouted.
Very heightened emotions. Loki's heart trembled, although from surprise. He won't say. He won't do good.
Yes, I'm just joking. You can't get out of here.
There was silence. Long. No one dared to spoil it. Due to the fact that it came for one reason for everyone. Loki's words hurt each of them, including himself. The words hit with a mace. Words touched hope, trampled and killed. Yes, Bloom and this one are doomed to feel guilty. Well, Loki, looking at the distortion of the faces of those two, understood the extent of the pain caused. His words, of course, hurt him, but not pain. Something different, delicate.
Hands up, I'm an android sent from Cyberlife!
The man flaunted. It is not he who is more attractive, but the gun in his hands. What is he going to do with it?
Are you going to kill us? Kill in Hel? Is it... Kill in a square? - asked the more or less adequate God, ostentatiously raising his hands. The other two followed suit.
Where are we and who are you? We answer in order.
I am Bloom, dragon flame fairy, Domino princess. If I'm not mistaken, this is the world after death, its name is ... Hel.
Loki, son of... Laufey. God of deceit and deceit. You seem to be dead, since you're here, - he swallowed it all. He is the son of Laufey. Not Odin.
I am Harry. Harry Potter.
The android threw the gun into oblivion, like everyone else here. However, unlike these drooping ones, the man continued to experience nothing. The circle on his temple lit up red - these are all the changes.
In what way androids, they are artificial intelligence, fall into Hel? Are you a Stark creation? This awkward fairytale gnome? Loki suggested.
Hel is not the sister of darkness, the bearer of darkness, the prototype of the mythological cave of devils. Hel is afterworld. Time is not subject to this abode of souls, therefore, torment is eternal, in the case of a sinful life. There are no walls separating the space, neither the ceiling nor the ground. The soul is supported by helian forces from falling, like an android's weapon. The soul does not need food, water, sleep. The soul forms a shell according to the memories of the latter, and the whole organism. The soul wanders through the colorless, boundless space. And that's it. The result of such a pastime is nothing but peace. And the soul that has found peace disappears.
Loki does not know them, does not know what they were like in life, what they did, who was honored, what sins they have, what good deeds. In all the times he's been here, Loki has met many. Tall, short, beautiful, freaks, sociable, silent, vampires, elves. He also got into dark side Hel, where reigns Eternal flame and the brave ones smolder. Much in this, not this, past, life before last, he went through. No more than Odin, he thought, but enough to start a career as a sage. The sage says: "peace, only peace is the vice of something."
I beg your pardon, sir. Are you unable to repeat your roots? - a man with a square and a small mustache tore him from his thoughts.
The god of deception arched his eyebrows.
Do not misunderstand me. I'm watching. Did you say "Lafie"?
Loki opened his mouth for some sarcastic answer, but closed his mouth again.
Uncle, we have a circle of revelations here. You can join," Bloom said sadly.
First, give us your name in life. I hope you know that you left that world? - Supported her young man, his name is Harry.
Nikolay. Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol. Join if allowed. However, I will be with you for only one reason - I want to send you to the pages, - he enlightened languidly.
Are we already in the circle of depressed idiots? Excellent! And when did we create it? “Loki doesn't agree with such a drastic turn of the infamous fate.
I see no way out other than to talk.
Good. If this is a circle of revelations, perhaps I'll start - Harry conquered his feelings?
Bloom nodded, sitting comfortably in the lotus position. The android also sat down, looking like an innocent puppy. Did Loki have anything else to do? Their new acquaintance spread out his robe elegantly and settled down on it.
My name is Harry Potter. And... damn, it's hard! He covered his face with his hands.
I saw you cry. So, everything is fine. I don’t think that rumors will spread around Hel,” Loki reassured him. Who else? - Can you imagine the club of anonymous alcoholics.
Okay... I'm Harry Potter. I was seventeen years old, and I would have spent my whole life in a closet if I had not turned out to be a magician. My parents are wizards, died because of Voldemort. He is evil. I studied at Hogwarts - the school of wizards - and year after year, with the help of friends and relatives, I defeated him. AT last fight I fell. Now I'm here.
Loki started clapping his hands. Four pairs of eyes stared at him in disbelief.
We're in the Alcoholics Anonymous Club," he explains. "Okay, Harry, if I didn't misspell your name, you can tell me how you feel."
Pain. I failed. I was the hope of many. Perhaps ... - a tear rolled down his cheek, leaving a wet trail. - they are all dead ... I'm to blame. I could not. I turned out to be weak. Because of me, all this ... I'm to blame!
Yes, it's your fault, Harry. Blame for everything that happened. We are a figment of your imagination that will comfort you in Hel, - Loki seemed to be telling the truth.
Harry's eyes widened.
And in this way you put pressure on a person who has experienced death. Marvelous! - with these words, Nikolai continued to scratch on the sheet of paper. Ah, it was his handwriting.
During the entire conversation, the android was silent.
Harry, it's not your fault. If it wasn't for you, many would die before they were born, right? Bloom patted her shoulder, running her back in a soothing gesture.
The young man nodded, sniffing at the same time.
I have. somewhat similar situation. I screwed up the convergence at the right time, and everything faded. Tritannus… - interrupted.
Thanos?! - Panic fought with all its might, preparing for the next.
No, Tritannus, cousin of Layla, my friend. He is a triton. In general, he was distraught by the fact that his brother, the youngest, deserved the crown with his prudence. Formally and monarchically, he was supposed to be king. And yes, I feel guilty. I could change it. I could! But no, these Trix...
Loki experienced deja vu. There was no more disgusting feeling in this world and in any other. When you see your mistakes in the actions of another, the soul is torn apart. And now it consists of one soul. He feels hatred for Bloom with his whole body, baseless, extravagant hatred. The lump inside shrinks. Loki is ready to go into convulsions. No, he rather restrains himself from doing so.
And, in that world, my loved ones remained ... - and again interrupted by God.
There is no love.
Yes, she frowned.
No, Loki has stood his ground for ten centuries now. What is there?
There is, - there was Harry.
This is a very strange feeling that I would like to feel, - the android gave a voice. I'm Connor, nice to meet you.
Shut up, Connor, - the enraged three said in unison, and Loki continued, - you will not feel this feeling, because it does not exist.
Note that the quarrel the best choice for you, my friends, if you are in these parts, - Nikolai advised.
Yes, you are right, Gogol. I won't find peace in eternity quarreling with you. And I realized something, all of them - Bloom, Harry ... okay, not all of them, but these two - want to return old time. I'll get you out of here.
So you lied to me! Harry exclaimed.
I agree, I have to go back, - Bloom quickly got up, approaching Loki.
I'm not sure that I will return you exactly to desired worlds, but at least I'll get it out of Hel. Do you agree?
The two nodded.
With your permission, I will stay here, - Nikolai smiled reassuringly.
Android, are you with us? Bloom asked.
Yes, brevity is the sister of talent.
