small case from personal life
N.D.Balabai

The distance is boundless, the heights are under heaven, and the heat ... and the heat is utter. We've had a terrible heat wave this summer. 43 degrees in the shade! Warm, however.
And I had to buy milk in the market in a plastic bottle in such a heat.
In fact, we buy milk at the dacha from our thrush lady Lida. Lida is a nurse in the past, she is very hardworking and exceptionally clean. Therefore, the milk that we bought from her, everyone drank without fear. By the way, Lida is very jealous of the quality of her products and cleanliness. She speaks very funny in South Ukrainian surzhik, and always says to me quite seriously
- Don’t buy from Natashka, she buys from me herself, then diluted with water, she sells it. Pipe!
- You don’t have to wash the bottles, I wash everything and roast it in the sun.
-Today I bathed my Lasunya, (a cow), so I have such a garnish, such a clean one. Don't give milk to anyone, krim mene.
-Try yak milk, yak with sugar, and cream?! A!
And I always obediently bought milk only from her, and now I managed it. Well, there is a hole in the old woman, as the classics rightly noted. Got a little hot.

I drank coffee with this milk from the market and began to slowly end: chills, fever, diarrhea, headache, vomit. Full set. It's just that levomycetin and furozalidon did not help, I got under a dropper, fortunately my husband was the chief medical officer, and his best friend is a gastroenterologist.
I lie and lament over my unfortunate fate, good people on the beach, on the river, on yachts, in dachas, and you, with a needle in your hand, are all in the ward, like a tired leg.

Call. Lida.
-Olga Petrovna, leave milk for you.
- Hello, Lidochka, dear ... No, we will not come to the dacha today.
-What is it?
-And I, Lida, am such a fool that I can’t even find words. I bought milk at the market, and now I'm on a drip. Poisoned.
-What are you? Whoa! Well, what did you take in the market? Chi with gluzdu zihala? (crazy)
-Probably, but the hostess, Lida, assured me that milk is “morning”.
-That's like it's morning. They have it for 5 days in the morning, they pour antibiotics there. I told you (I told you)
What are you, Linda? Can't be!
-From you are already intelligentsia, yet already naive. Straight, like a child ..
Lida's intelligentsia is a dirty word. (This is for reference.)
-Listen, there tsikh hazyayek have such chemistry, sho and that one, like him ...
-Mendeleev.
- Oh, right. Mendeleev did not dream. Add pepsin, antibiotics, smectite. And grind sour cream with chalk and palm oil. And it's tasty, because it's a flavor enhancer. It’s like in a laboratory there - to cheat like that, you don’t know, you carry it to the company.
Linda, right?
-Tyu! Shaw I will lie. I told you to buy milk from me, but you were carried to that market. There's a pipe there. From hear: in Fedorovka, Galka had a leukemia cow, the toad pressed to inoculate, she was greedy; so first the husband died, and then she herself, 2 little ones left. And she traded in milk for the whole hour.
I got cold. Oh Lord, Queen of Heaven!
- And in Central, cows have brucellosis, so there are 3 families who are crazy.
- Linda, maybe you won't continue. You already convinced me.
- I'll tell you - contagious cows with leukemia rich. Khazyaev save pennies, and people die.
- Linda, Linda, I understand. I swear, we will only buy milk from you.
- Good, good. Get well soon, Olga Petrovna. You cey, drink tea with lemon, mineral water, rigedron.
Somehow I immediately remembered the golden time for music lovers, when the country of the Soviets buried its general secretaries - in the morning funeral symphonies, requiems, Tchaikovsky with his "Pathetica", the best conductors: Mravinsky, Rozhdestvensky, Kondrashin. Ballets are a celebration of art. Yes. So it sounds in the ears - Kirie eleison, Lord have mercy! Then, already, I thought about the will - leukemia, this is not a joke to you.

And I got sick of dozing, and it is not readable. That's it! Recently, our Kulibins crashed into a water pipe at night, and if it weren’t for the counters, no one would have known. Homegrown Mendeleevs from a half-liter jar of cream with the help of simple chemical operations, such as mixing and shaking, get 3 liters of a suspension called "Oh, sour cream is so tasty in mene" of an exclusively marketable appearance. The same Mendeleevs brew moonshine with chicken manure for a quick catch-up, and sell it right at the kiosks, but I, really, naive, all the time was surprised at what polite and smiling women sell mineral water in the kiosk. And why wouldn’t they smile, he knocked over a glass and a drink stands nearby. Har-rra-sho! You never know. My colleague once said: “Ukrainians are like vipers - they are crushed, impoverished, but they still survive. And eat one alone!

Definitely, I concluded when I hobbled home - to buy milk only from Lida and be sure, as the doctor said, to boil. Sour cream is the most expensive only in supermarkets, checking the date and year!
Which is what I recommend to everyone. Be healthy everyone! Olga Golub. 09/03/12.

A funny story happened to me on transport this fall. I went to Moscow. From Rostov. Here comes the mail-passenger train at 6.45 pm.
I'm on this train.
The people are not so ugly a lot. Even in extreme cases, you can sit down.
Please hurry up. I sit down.
And business, I speak, by the evening. Not that dark, but dark. Generally twilight. And they still don't fire. Save wires.
So, I look at the surrounding passengers and see - the company has crept up quite glorious. All of them, I see, are nice, not inflated people. Please remember them.
One such without a hat, long-maned subject, but not pop. Such an intellectual in general in a black jacket.
Next to him - in Russian boots and a uniform cap. Such mustache. Just not an engineer. Maybe he's a zookeeper or an agronomist. Only, you see, a very sympathetic soul person. He holds a penknife with his handles and with this knife he cuts antonov apple into pieces and feeds his other neighbor - the armless one. This one next to him, I see an armless citizen riding. Such a young proletarian guy. Without both hands. Probably disabled. It's very pitiful to look at.
But he eats with such gusto. And since he has no hands, he
cut into slices and put into the mouth on the tip of a knife.
Such, I see, a humane picture. A story worthy of Rembrandt.

And opposite them sits a middle-aged, gray-haired man in a black cap. And all he, this man, grins.
Maybe they had some funny conversation before me. Only, you see, this passenger still cannot cool down and laughs all the time: "hee" and "hee".
And I was very intrigued not by this gray-haired one, but by the one who was unarmed.
cue.
And I look at him with civic sorrow, and I am very tempted to ask how he got so stupid and why he lost his limbs. But it's embarrassing to ask.
I think I'll get used to the passengers, I'll talk and then I'll ask.
He began to ask extraneous questions to the mustachioed subject, as a more responsive
Chivomu, but he answers gloomy and reluctantly.
Only suddenly the first, intelligent man with long hair gets involved in a conversation with me.
He turned to me for some reason, and we struck up a conversation on different lungs topics: where are you going, how much is cabbage and do you have a housing crisis today.
He says:
- We do not have a housing crisis. Moreover, we live in our homestead, in the estate.
- And what, - I say, - do you have a room or a doghouse there?
- No, - he says, - why the room. Take it higher. I have nine rooms, not counting, of course, the people's rooms, sheds, latrines, and so on.
I speak:
- Maybe you're lying? Well, I say, you were not evicted during the revolution, or is it a state farm?
- No, - he says, - this is mine. family estate, mansion. Yes, you, he says, come to me. I sometimes arrange evenings. Fountains splash around me. Symphony orchestras waltzes are played every minute.
- What are you, - I say, - I'm sorry, will you be a tenant, or are you a private person?
- Yes, - he says, - I am a private person. By the way, I'm a landowner.
- That is, - I say, - how do you, excuse me, understand? Are you a former landowner? That is, I say, the proletarian revolution swept away your category. I, I say, I'm sorry, I did not understand something in this matter. We have, I say, social revolution, socialism, what kind of landlords can we have?
- But, - he says, - they can. Here, he says, I am a landowner. I, he says, managed to survive through your entire revolution, and, he says, I spit on everyone - I live like a god. And I don't care about your, you think, social revolutions.
I look at him in amazement and do not really understand what's what.
He says:
- Come and see. Well, if you want, let's go to my place now.
Very, he says, you will meet a luxurious aristocratic life. Let's go. See.
"What, - I think, - for the devil. To go, or something, to see how he is
wounded through the proletarian revolution? Or is he lying
Moreover, I see - a gray-haired man laughs. Everyone laughs: "hehe" and
"hehe".
I just wanted to point out to him inappropriate laughter, and the mustachioed one, who had cut the apple before, put the penknife on the table,
ate the leftovers and says to me quite loudly:
- Stop talking to him. It's mental. Not
see, right?
Then I looked at the whole honest company and I see - my fathers! Why, it's really crazy that they go with a watchman. And who has long hair
- abnormal. And who laughs all the time. And armless too. He's just wearing a straitjacket - his arms are twisted. And you can’t immediately make out what he is with his hands. In a word, crazy people go. And this mustachioed -
their caretaker. He transports them.
I look at them with concern and get nervous - I still think, damn it, they will strangle them, since they are mental and are not responsible for their actions.
Only suddenly I see - one crazy, with a black beard, my neighbor, looked at his with a sly eye on a penknife and suddenly carefully takes
it into your hand.
Then my heart skipped a beat and the frost on the skin passed. In one second I
jumped up, fell on the bearded man and began to take away his knife.
And he desperately resists me. And he tries to bite me with his frenzied teeth.
Only suddenly the mustachioed watchman pulls me back.
- Why are you, - he says, - they fell on them, as you, right, are not ashamed. This is their knife. This is not a psychic passenger. These three - yes, my mental. And this passenger just rides, just like you don't. We borrowed a knife from them - they asked. This is their knife. How shameless you are!
whom I crushed says:
- I give them a knife, they are attacking me. They choke on the throat.
Thank you thank you. What strange behavior on their part. Yes, maybe it's also mental. Then if you're a watchman, you better look after him. Avon, lashes out - strangles by the throat.
Watchman says:
Maybe he's psychic too. The dog will take it apart. Only he is not from my party. Why would I look after him in vain. There is nothing for me to point out. I know mine.
I say to the strangled:
- I'm sorry, I thought you were crazy too.
- You, - says, - thought. Indian roosters think ... Almost, you bastard, they didn’t strangle by the throat. Don't you see, perhaps, their crazy look and mine are natural.
“No,” I say, “I don’t see it. On the contrary, I say, you also have some kind of haze in your eyes, and your beard grows with a poke, like a crazy one.
One psychic - this same landowner - says:
- And you pull his beard - so he will stop talking abnormalities.
The bearded one wanted to scream, but then we arrived at the Igren station, and our psychics with their guide came out. And they came out in pretty good order. The armless one just had to be pushed a little.
And then the conductor told us that at this Igren station there is a house for the mentally ill, where such mental patients are sometimes taken. And how else to carry them? Not in a dog kennel. There is nothing to be offended.
Yes, I'm actually not offended. But the one I crushed, that one
really offended. He looked at me gloomily for a long time and followed my every movement with fear. And then, not expecting anything good from me, he moved with things to another department.
Please. I have nothing against it.
And when he left and I was left alone, everything became fun and funny for me.
what happened to me. And this little incident seemed to me an amazingly funny incident, based on a not entirely successful translation.
carriage of psychics.
And I laughed and fell asleep. And in the morning I got up in a good mood.
So sometimes failure turns into success.

I stop once at the cinema and wait for one lady.
Here, I must say, we liked one person. Such a rather interesting childless girl. Servant.
Well, of course, love. Meetings. Different words like that. And even composing poems on a topic that has nothing to do with construction, something like this: "A bird is jumping on a branch, the sun is shining in the sky ... Accept, my dear, my hello ... And something like that, I don’t remember, - ta-ta-ta-ta... it hurts..."
Love in this sense always has a negative impact on the outlook of individual citizens. Sometimes whining and various humane feelings are noticed. There is some kind of pity for people and fish and a desire to help them. And the heart becomes somehow sensitive. Which is completely redundant these days.
So, one day I stand in the cinema with my sensitive heart and wait for my lady.
And she, since she is an employee and does not value her place too much, she likes to be late. On service something, of course for this strictly. Well, here she knows for two delays she will be fired. So she wins back on personal grounds and on humane feelings.
So, I stand like a fool in a movie and wait.
So - the queue at the checkout is flowing. So - the door is open to the street, come in. Yes, I'm standing. And somehow I stand so energetically, cheerfully. Hunting to sing, have fun, play the fool. Hunting someone to push, play a trick or grab the nose. In the soul, singing is heard, and the heart is torn with happiness.
And suddenly I see - standing around front door a poorly dressed old woman. She has such a tattered water proof, a shabby muff, old-fashioned slippers with holes.
And this old woman stands modestly at the door and looks with pitiful eyes at those who come in, waiting to see if they will serve.
Others in her place usually stand impudently, deliberately singing in thin voices or muttering some French words, while this one stands modestly and even somehow bashfully.
Humane feelings fill my heart. I take out my purse, rummage in it for a while, take out a ruble and from pure heart, with a slight bow, I serve the old woman.
And from the fullness of feelings, tears, like diamonds, shine in his eyes.
The old woman looked at the ruble and said:
- What's this?
- Here, - I say, - accept, mother, from the unknown.
And suddenly I see - her cheeks flushed from deep excitement.
- It's strange, - he says, - I don't seem to ask. Why are you pushing me a ruble? .. Maybe I'm expecting a daughter - I'm going to go to the cinema with her. It is very, he says, a shame to see such facts.
I speak:
- I'm sorry ... How can it be ... I don't understand myself ... Sorry ... I say. Straight confused. You don't know who needs what. And who is behind what. No joke, so many people...
But the old woman raises her voice to a full screech.
- What is it, - he says, - do not go to the cinema - they insult the person! How, he says, will your hands not wither to make such gestures? Yes, I'd rather wait for my daughter and go to another movie with her than I'll sit with you and breathe contaminated air.
I grab her hands, apologize and ask for forgiveness. And I quickly step aside, otherwise, I think, what good, they will notice the police, and I'm waiting for the lady.
My lady is coming soon. And I stand dull and pale, and even somewhat stunned, and I am ashamed to look around so as not to see my offended old woman.
So I take a ticket and follow my lady with small steps.
Suddenly someone comes up behind me and grabs my elbow.
I want to turn around to leave, but suddenly I see an old woman in front of me.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “wasn’t it you who gave me a ruble just now?”
I mumble something incoherent, and she continues:
- I don’t remember here, someone gave me a ruble just now ... It seems you. If you, then okay, give. Here the daughter did not calculate, and the second places are more expensive than we thought. And in the third places I will not see anything because of the weakness of the eyes. Just leave right now. I'm sorry, she says she reminded me.
I take out my purse, but my lady lets in the following words:
- Absolutely, he says, there is nothing to throw money at. For that matter, I'd rather have a narzan in the buffet.
I speak:
- You will get Narzan, don't whine. But I have to give a ruble. You never know what are the monetary hitches. We must, I say, be comradely.
No, I still gave the old woman a ruble, and we began to look at the picture in disheveled feelings.
To the music, the lady sawed me, saying that in two weeks of our acquaintance I could not buy her cologne, but, by the way, I throw dust in my eyes and distribute rubles right and left.
In the end they began to show a funny comedy, and we, forgetting about everything, laughed merrily.
And this old woman was sitting with her daughter not far from us and also sometimes grunted merrily.
And I was very glad that I gave her this cultural pleasure. And even if she asked me for two rubles, I would also give her without batting an eyelid.
But, in general, this is a minor fact, and as for large matters related to money, we, for example, know the following case.
Here is an amusing novella that lovers of the Mysterious will have some pleasure in reading.

Natalya Vasilievna Ishchenko - prose writer, member of the Writers' Union of Russia, chairman of the board of the Union of Russian Writers of Eastern Crimea, editor of the Literary Feodosia magazine, diploma student International Prize them. Grand Duke Yuri Dolgorukov, laureate of the Prize. N. Gumilyov, the Crimean festivals "Chekhov's Autumn" and "Bosporan Agons". Published in the magazines Our Contemporary, Moscow, Aurora, Chaika, Day and Night, Literary Feodosia, etc. Lives in Feodosia.

After recording a program about the Feodosia poetess in a cable television studio, I said goodbye to the heroine literary meeting and walked to the nearest bus stop. My feet, in sandals on high heels, carefully stepped on the broken sidewalk, and the eyes diligently scanned it, helping to maintain balance while walking on the asphalt killed by years and rains. This has already happened to me when I thumped on the asphalt with all my might, hitting my foot in a hole or a crack. And all because of an irresistible desire to disconnect from the surrounding bustle and admire the bottomless Crimean skies, bizarre clouds peacefully floating into unknown distances. At such moments, I usually calmed down, let go of my stresses, as if looking into eternity, and in response it gave rise to a soft, warm feeling in my soul, as if someone had gently stroked my head, as in childhood.

But let us return, finally, to the "case". Next to me, a young blonde vigorously tapped her heels. I saw how she took out her bag from her pocket on the go. mobile phone and started picking up desired number on keyboard. I, continuing to carefully “study” the humpbacked sidewalk, out of the corner of my eye suddenly noticed a hundred bill on it. I immediately connected this hundred with a woman who passed by, as the paper money was still swaying on the pavement, as if after a fall. A hundred is not such a small bill, you can live on it all day, if you are economical. I turned around and saw that the woman had not gone far and was within range of my voice.

“Woman,” I called out loudly. - Woman, you lost a hundred rubles.

She did not hear me, continuing to talk animatedly to someone on the phone.

“Woman,” I shouted even louder and waved my hand to get her attention. Some old women, who were talking nearby, heard my calls addressed to the talkative lady, and also called out to her.

Then the blonde heard my screams, noticed a stray bill lying on the pavement and went to her. I did not want to raise other people's money, so I calmly waited for the blonde to raise a hundred herself.

But while I was shouting and waving my arms, attracting the attention of an absent-minded lady, the lost banknote was also noticed by a short old woman, who was dragging two heavy shopping bags from the market. She quickly assessed the situation, nimbly darted to a hundred and, without hesitation, lowered her load right on her. I understood the old woman’s plan: to cover the bill with wallets, and then, picking up my bags, quietly pick up the money. Go and prove later that the paper is not hers. I was somehow jarred at such greed of an elderly man. After all, she was not hungry, her bags were full of food.

“Grandma, remove your bags from someone else’s hundred,” I demanded decisively. - She's not yours. There is her mistress, - and I pointed to the woman approaching us.

The old woman glared at me and, reluctantly, picked up her load from the hundred-rouble note. With that look, she gave herself away, and my suspicions that her actions were intentional were confirmed. At this time, the blonde, smiling shyly, raised her bill and thanked me. And I, looking at her, thought: who knows, maybe these were her last hundred rubles before salary. Everything happens in life. I remember back in Soviet times, having found three rubles accidentally lying around in my pocket, I was able to cook a good dinner for my mother who came to visit. Money is never redundant. For nobody!

Everything happened very quickly, flashed like a frame of a film. And what was that, I wondered? Just a small everyday case, which was not worth paying attention to, but I suddenly felt the full depth of this situation.

There are no small things in life. After all, this old woman is probably someone's mother or grandmother. And what kind of children did she raise? What tells grandchildren about the sin of theft, about dishonest attitude towards other people. As I continued to walk slowly along the sidewalk, I thought about this incident. Sometimes it's good to think deeply. In life, according to fate, all people are given various trials - whether with money, love, betrayal or lies. And how important it is for a person not to succumb to temptation, not only because of the fear of the coming retribution for sin, but simply for the sake of the purity of his own soul.

Said:

A small sketch. So to say, a small case of ...

A small sketch. So to speak, a small incident from his personal life.
It happened in glorious stagnant times. One woman, a dentist, a friend of our family and a very good doctor, by the way, after a difficult (literally) labor day was returning home. As was customary in those years, by bus or by tram - the type of public transport has disappeared for centuries, since this in no way affected the essence.
So, a tired woman, with a bag, asks citizens to bring a few kopecks to the cashier, tear off the ticket and give it to her. In order not to have scandals with the controller, if one is declared. The people are compassionate, naturally enter into the situation, and do everything as asked. That is, he throws money into the cashier, tears off the ticket and passes it (the ticket) to our friend.
And in response, he hears instead of the usual and familiar "Thank you!", For which he is already planning the no less familiar "Not at all!" - absolutely amazing "Spit!"
Well, what can I say ... The people went home in a good mood ...