Cozy, period: Izvestia publishes a fragment of Vera Soroka's new book
"The work on the book was carried out at the Peredelkino House of Creativity," says one of the first pages of Tales of the Blind World. And this means at least a change of geography. Last year, everyone read Vera Soroka's debut book, "St. Petersburg Monsters," and the focus seemed to shift to Peredelkino. But the fantasy motifs of the previous collection have not gone away, and an essential part of the "Tales of the Blind World" are stories featuring talking owls and bears, mermaids and dead rabbits running around. Nevertheless, we decided to choose a completely different novel from the collection for publication. There is no magic or mysticism here, but magic is still present, and even more so.
Michelin Star (short story from the book "Tales of the Blind World")
Rita was an actress. In the credits, she was referred to as "blonde 2" or "the saleswoman." But even so, Rita was happy. She stopped the video, swiped her finger across the screen with the frozen name, touching eternity.
Rita once read the VKontakte status that the whole world is a theater, which means that all professions are a bit of acting. Rita played a waitress for several years, but she didn't have much money. I played a prostitute a couple of times, but after that I wanted to stand in the shower for a long time. And a shared shower is not allowed for a long time.
And then Rita decided that she could at least play someone, as long as she had her own bathroom and a make-up mirror with light bulbs. Rita dreamed of an Oscar. And not even about the figure, but about the red dress on the red carpet. "Red on red is real chic," Rita thought.
One day, she saw an ad at the bus stop: "A 1‑room apartment is being built" and tore off the handwritten number. I thought for a while and tore off all the other pieces of paper with the numbers lying on the side.
Olya worked at the distribution. She was shuffling yesterday's chops, half-eaten buckwheat, and meatballs with rice. And for lunch, she handed out a trump chicken leg to some, and a bitten—off cutlet the day before yesterday that didn't suit them.
"It's a sin to throw away food," Olina's grandmother said, and then Tolik, the owner of the canteen. In Olya's head, they mixed up like yesterday's and the day before yesterday's Vitamin salad, and grandma began to speak in Tolik's smoky voice.
Inside, in her own voice, Olya thought that feeding people slops was also some kind of sin. Ole wanted to cook good food for people, not just food for the body, but food for the soul.
Olya dreamed of a Michelin star. She didn't know what it was, but she had heard that such a star was given to the best chefs. And Olya could have gotten one, but no matter how much you cook pasta in the communal kitchen, pasta still comes out.
Therefore, when Olya saw the sign on the pole "A 1‑room apartment is being built," she immediately dialed the number. She had to hurry while the Michelin star illuminated her path.
In the morning, Rita thought for a long time who to play — a provincial student or an aspiring artist from the suburbs. The artistic blouse was in the wash, so a student went to look at the apartment.
Arthur showed Rita the apartment. It wasn't long to show — here's a table, here's a sideboard, here's a sink, here's a sign, payment in advance.
The real Rita thought there was no need to rush, but Rita, a student, had just arrived in a big city and was in a hurry to start living. That's why I signed it as soon as possible, gave it back and received it.
Rita returned with a lame suitcase and opened the door with a key. Olya was already inside.
Also with a key.
"What are you doing here?"
"I kind of live here," Olya replied.
- no. It's like I live here," Rita said uncertainly.
We should have had a fight here, but Olya was tired after her shift, and Rita was wearing a student's sweatshirt and hadn't quite gotten out of character yet.
They both took out the papers, compared them, read them, and didn't understand anything. Rita didn't understand even when she took off her blouse. And Olya realized that she had been tricked and would not get a Michelin star.
They called Arthur. He picked up the phone and wasn't even embarrassed.
— Small letters should be read.
"But where do we live now?"
— That's where you live, I'm not finished. Divide it up and live as long as you want. Just pay on time.
Arthur is a negative character in this story, but not really. That's how it often happens in life.
And Rita and Olya divided it up and began to live. Olya took a kitchen, a dining table and a sideboard with greasy crystal for serving. Rita took a wardrobe, a stool, and a shuttered mirror. I wrapped it with a Christmas tree garland, and it turned out to be elegant and good.
So they began to live together. Olya cooked, and Rita told all sorts of roles and in different voices.
One day it was unlocked, and a man came into the apartment. He opened the door, took off his shoes, and didn't even try to hide the hole in his toe.
Rita and Olya were initially afraid that this was a third neighbor.
The man washed his hands over the bathtub, turned on the TV and sat down at the table. Rita and Olga exchanged glances and did everything right. Olga fed her, and Rita sat down opposite and asked how the day had gone and how Volodya was feeling. Then she added that the bathroom handle needed to be fixed and the shelf nailed down — it was loose.
The man promised that he would do it, and continued to watch TV. Then I accidentally focused on Rita and got terribly embarrassed. He said that he had been in the city quite recently, thought about his own and came in as if he were going home.
— And you're just like a wife, about the door or whatever. It was very similar.
—Thank you," Rita said and bowed.
—Can I come back?" It's like home here — bustling and delicious.
"Come in,— they said.
The man nodded, put on his shoes and left the money on the bedside table.
Since then, those who were lonely in the city began to visit their apartment. And almost everyone was lonely in this city.
Someone wanted to be like grandma's — to eat their fill, listen to stories, and then have more pies with them and borscht in a jar. Someone wanted to be like before with his wife. It's like they're waiting at home and shouting to hurry up while it's hot. Some came to their children, whom they had not seen for a long time. Then you don't really need to cook. Then listen more.
And Rita played wives, children, grandmothers, girlfriends, treated wounds. And Olya cooked exactly the same.
One came to justify himself. For everything I've done and, most importantly, what I haven't done. He drank a lot, hardly ate. Rita listened and forgave him for all his women and children. She brought bread and sugar from the kitchen, strong tea, as his father brewed it, and stroked his head for a long time.
Another was so tired of full restaurants and empty chicks that he came to eat fried potatoes with milk. Just like when I was a kid. And to have the wounds treated with greenery.
"I wonder," Rita thought as he ate, "if it's possible to fill the soul with greenery so that it doesn't hurt and doesn't get inflamed? And is there enough greenery in the house?"
There was also a woman with a girl. They've already been to a Michelin starred restaurant in France. Therefore, the girl drew such a star for Olya and signed it: "the star of the mind." And Rita got her doll in a red dress.
In the evenings, Olya washed the pots, and Rita extinguished the garland. The stack of money on the bedside table was already piled on its side. It would be enough to rent a separate apartment. But Rita and Olya left everything as it is.
Переведено сервисом «Яндекс Переводчик»
