The writer davlatov read the work of the reserve. How is the theme of the absurdity of the world revealed in Dovlatov's story "Reserve"? Materials for the message

The story of the ordeal of an uncensored Soviet writer in the Pushkin reserve in Mikhailovsky, which, with Dovlatov, becomes a metaphor for the entire Soviet society.

comments: Polina Ryzhova

What is this book about?

Mid 1970s. Boris Alikhanov, a drinking loser writer from Leningrad, comes to Pushkinskie Gory for the summer to earn some money as a tour guide. The story, based on Dovlatov's personal experience, looks like a series of anecdotal stories, but at the center is a painful existential crisis of a person mired in problems with family, alcohol and self-esteem. For the author himself, this book became a farewell to the Soviet Union.

Sergei Dovlatov in front of the House of Press in Tallinn. 1974 year

When was it written?

Dovlatov made the first sketches of the Zapovednik in Leningrad in 1976-1977, following his work at the Pushkinogorsk excursion bureau. By that time, he was a semi-banned Soviet writer with dubious journalistic prospects (in 1976 he was expelled from the Union of Journalists of the USSR). But Dovlatov's texts appear in émigré magazines, and in 1977 the American publishing house Ardis Publishing American publishing house that published Russian literature in the original language and in English translation. It was founded by Slavic scholars Karl and Ellendea Proffer in Ann Arbor, Michigan in 1971. The publishing house produced both modern uncensored literature (Joseph Brodsky, Sasha Sokolov, Vasily Aksyonov) and texts that were not published in the USSR (Mikhail Bulgakov, Marina Tsvetaeva, Andrei Platonov). In 2002, part of the catalog and the rights to the name Ardis were sold; since that time, books in Russian have not been published in it. ⁠ publishes his debut collection The Invisible Book. Dovlatov continued work on the "Reserve" already in exile - the main part of the text was written in Vienna, where he lived from August 1978 to February 1979, before moving to the United States. In New York, Dovlatov rewrites the story several times, in June 1983 its final version was ready. At this time, the writer is overtaken by literary success in America (three of his stories have already been published in The New Yorker magazine), but at the same time the litigation related to the closure of the newspaper is unsettling. "New American" A weekly newspaper published in New York in Russian from 1980 to 1982. The editor-in-chief of the newspaper was Sergei Dovlatov, Alexander Genis and Peter Weil also worked in the editorial office. The circulation reached 11 thousand copies. The New American was forced to close due to financial problems - the publishers could not repay the loan taken to open the newspaper. ⁠ and non-payment of the loan taken on it.

House of Sergei Dovlatov in the village of Berezino, Pskov region

How is it written?

The style of the story is as if conversational and unassuming. However, the external simplicity of Dovlatov's prose and the feeling of “linguistic comfort " 1 Sukhikh I. N. Sergei Dovlatov: time, place, destiny. SPb .: Azbuka, 2010.S. 8. ⁠ - the result of painstaking work. It is known that Dovlatov artificially limited himself to achieve stylistic grace: for example, he did not use words starting with the same letter in one sentence. There is a lot of air in the text of the "Reserve", in many respects this effect is achieved due to the peculiarities of the author's punctuation - Dovlatov prefers dots to dots, blurring any certainty 2 Genis A. Dovlatov and surroundings. M .: Corpus, 2011.S. 183. ⁠ ... Joseph Brodsky noted that Dovlatov, contrary to popular belief, is primarily not a talented storyteller, but a wonderful stylist. His texts are based on the "rhythm of the phrase", "the cadence of the author's speech" and are written in the manner of poems: "This is more a singing than a narration."

It is clear to everyone that geniuses must have acquaintances. But who would believe that his acquaintance is a genius ?!

Sergey Dovlatov

What influenced her?

This is American prose popular among the sixties (O. Henry, Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, John Dos Passos, John Updike, Thomas Wolfe), and Russian feuilleton (Arkady Averchenko, Yuri Olesha, Mikhail Bulgakov), and OBERIU (Daniil Kharms, Alexander Vvedensky, Nikolai Zabolotsky), and the underground Leningrad school ( Vladimir Maramzin Vladimir Rafailovich Maramzin (born 1934) is a writer. Member of the Leningrad literary group "Citizens", one of the authors of the typewritten collection of the same name. Together with Mikhail Kheifets and Efim Etkind, he worked on a samizdat collection of Brodsky's works, which is why he was arrested in 1974, received a suspended sentence, and then received permission to emigrate. Lived in Paris, published the literary magazines Continent and Echo. Maramzin's friend from Leningrad, Sergei Dovlatov, called him "Karamzin of the age of insanity." ⁠ , Vladimir Uflyand Vladimir Iosifovich Uflyand (1937-2007) - poet, writer, artist and translator. He worked as a loader and design worker in the Hermitage, did dubbing for Lenfilm. He was published in Soviet samizdat and abroad - in the magazines Obvodny Canal, Clock, Mitin Journal, Syntax. Together with the poets Mikhail Eremin, Leonid Vinogradov and Sergei Kulle, he was a member of the poetic association that became known as the philological school. The first book of poems by Uflyand was published in the United States in 1978. ⁠ , Sergey Wolf Sergei Evgenievich Wolf (1935-2005) - poet, prose writer and children's writer. In the 60s, Wolf wrote stories and poems that were distributed in samizdat, was close to the circle of Andrei Bitov, Valery Popov, Sergei Dovlatov. At the same time, Wolf wrote prose for teenagers. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, he published two books of poetry, "Little Gods" and "Rosy-cheeked Peacock". ⁠ ). The stories of Mikhail Zoshchenko and Anton Chekhov are closest to Dovlatov. Dovlatov's world is related to Zoshchenko's prose by absurd everyday dramas, outwardly unremarkable ordinary heroes and an equal storyteller, with Chekhov's - anecdotal plot collisions, love for simple one-piece sentences, an abundance of dialogues. Dovlatov himself pointed to Chekhov in his Notebooks: “One can revere the mind of Tolstoy. Admire the grace of Pushkin. Appreciate Dostoevsky's moral quest. Gogol's humor. Etc. However, I only want to be like Chekhov. "

For the first time "Zapovednik" was published in 1983 by the American publishing house Hermitage Publishers, founded Igor Igor Markovich Efimov (1937) - writer, philosopher, publicist. In the USSR he was a member of the Writers' Union, published novels and stories for children. Together with Boris Vakhtin, Vladimir Gubin and Vladimir Maramzin, he was a member of the Leningrad literary group "Citizens". In 1978, Efimov emigrated to America. In emigration, he first worked at the publishing house Ardis Publishing, then, together with his wife, opened his own publishing house, Hermitage Publishers, which published uncensored Soviet literature. Efimov is the author of novels, philosophical works, memoirs about Joseph Brodsky, Sergei Dovlatov, books about the assassination of John F. Kennedy. ⁠ and Marina Efimov Marina Mikhailovna Efimova (née Rachko; 1937) - writer, radio host. She worked at the Leningrad radio. In 1978, together with her husband Igor Efimov, she emigrated to America; in 1981, the couple opened their publishing house Hermitage Publishers in Michigan. Since the late 1980s, Efimova has been broadcasting on Radio Liberty, one of which she did together with Sergei Dovlatov. In 1990, Efimova's story "I Can't Through" was published. ⁠ , Dovlatov's friends and former editors of Ardis Publishing. In the USSR, Zapovednik was published by the Vasilievsky Ostrov publishing house in 1990, almost immediately after the author's death: it was Dovlatov's first book published in his homeland. In 1993, the story was included in the three-volume collected works of Dovlatov, prepared by the writer Andrei Ariev and designed by one of the founders of the Leningrad art group "Mitki" An informal creative association that emerged in the 1980s in Leningrad. It was named after one of its participants Dmitry Shagin. Among the basic principles of the art group are kindness, extreme simplicity, love for diminutive suffixes and strong alcohol. In 1984, a member of the association, Vladimir Shinkarev, published a book about Mitki in samizdat, which brought them wide popularity. In 1992, a cartoon about Mitki was released, and Mitki-Gazeta began to be published. ⁠ Alexander Florensky. Over the course of several years, the collection was reprinted three times (and expanded to four volumes), and its total circulation was 150 thousand copies. Writer Valery Popov Valery Georgievich Popov (1939) - writer, screenwriter. He worked as an engineer, began publishing in 1965. In Soviet times, he was known primarily as a children's writer. Popov is the author of several dozen novels and stories, screenplays, books about Likhachev, Dovlatov and Zoshchenko. Chairman of the Writers' Union of St. Petersburg, President of the St. Petersburg branch of the Russian PEN-Club, member of the editorial board of the magazines "Zvezda" and "Aurora". ⁠ recalled that among modern writers in the 1990s, only Dovlatov had such circulations: “He replaced all US" 3 Popov V.G. Dovlatov. Moscow: Young Guard, 2010. ⁠ .

Illustration by Alexander Florensky in the three-volume collected works of Dovlatov. Publishing house "Limbus-Press". Moscow, 1993

The first edition of the "Reserve". Hermitage Publishers. Ann Arbor, 1983

How was she received?

In emigration, Zapovednik was perceived primarily as an attempt by Dovlatov to explain why he left the USSR, and also as another evidence of his rapidly growing literary influence - in the same year as Zapovednik, the collections Nashi, The March of the Lonely were published, supplemented by reissue of "Solo on Underwood", the "Zone" published a year earlier is still noisy. In a letter to Dovlatov, the novel is warmly praised by the matriarch of the Russian literary emigration, the writer Nina Berberova Nina Nikolaevna Berberova (1901-1993) - writer, poet. She emigrated with Vladislav Khodasevich in 1922, ten years later the couple separated. Berberova wrote for the emigre editions "Latest News" and "Russian Thought", published novels and series of stories. In 1936 she published the popular literary biography of Tchaikovsky. In 1950 she moved to the USA, where she taught Russian language and literature at universities. In 1969 the book of memoirs by Berberova "Italics is mine" was published. ⁠ : "... In its own way," Zapovednik "is a masterpiece: how glad I am that I am not Pushkin!" In 1985, the émigré magazine Grani published the first large article about Dovlatov, written by a literary critic Ilya Serman Ilya Zakharovich Serman (1913-2010) - literary critic. Participated in the Great Patriotic War, taught literature at the Leningrad Pedagogical Institute. Herzen. In 1949 he was convicted of anti-Soviet propaganda, and was serving a sentence in the Magadan Region. In 1954 he was amnestied and was able to return to Leningrad. After his daughter emigrated, he was fired from the Institute of Russian Literature, and Serman was forced to leave for Israel, where he became a professor at the Department of Russian and Slavic Philology at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. ⁠ ... Referring to his fellow critics, Serman noted - Dovlatov “like a gold piece. To all Like" 4 ⁠ .

Dovlatov's literary legacy returned to Russia in the early 1990s, immediately and almost entirely. The writer Lyudmila Stern ⁠ compared his popularity at the turn of the century with the popularity of Vysotsky in the 1960s and 70s, and called the number of memoirs published a short time after the writer's death “almost unprecedented in Russian literature " 5 Stern L. Dovlatov is a good friend of mine. Saint Petersburg: Azbuka, 2005.S. 12. ⁠ ... Over the years, interest in Dovlatov, which at first seemed fleeting, did not fade away - as the literary critic Igor Sukhikh put it, the "flash" of interest rather turned into "steady burning." In 2015, Stanislav Govorukhin released the film "The End of a Beautiful Era", based on several stories of "Compromise", a few years later the film about Dovlatov was presented by Alexei German Jr. In 2018 alone, the Zapovednik staged a performance at the Sergei Zhenovach Theatrical Art Studio and made a film by Anna Matison with Sergei Bezrukov in the title role, in which the action of the story is transferred to our days. The Dovlatov arts festival, organized in the Pskov region by director Dmitry Meskhiev, is named in honor of the Zapovednik. In Mikhailovsky, where Dovlatov worked, a separate excursion route dedicated to the "Reserve" was launched. In St. Petersburg, on Rubinstein Street, a monument was erected to Dovlatov.

Film "Dovlatov". Directed by Alexei German Jr. 2018 year

How accurately is the Pushkin Museum-Reserve depicted in the "Zapovednik"?

Dovlatov ended up in the museum-reserve thanks to writers Andrey Ariev Andrey Yuryevich Ariev (1940) - literary critic, prose writer. He worked at Lenizdat, as a tour guide in the Mikhailovskoye Museum-Reserve, was a consultant in the prose department in the Zvezda magazine, and later as deputy editor-in-chief. In 1991, together with Yakov Gordin, he headed the magazine. Ariev is the compiler of the collected works of Dovlatov, the author of a book of memoirs about him. ⁠ and - Mikhailovskoye at that time often served as a haven for Leningrad intellectuals, where you could earn good money (about 8 rubles per excursion, about 200-250 rubles per month) and spend the summer outdoors. Dovlatov's hero Boris Alikhanov comes to the reserve for similar reasons, but instead of the virgin world of Russian classics, he discovers theatrical scenery, where the felt whiskers of the station waiter are responsible for the spirit of "Pushkin's places". When Alikhanov asked what was genuine in the reserve, the museum keeper answered evasively ("Everything is genuine here. The river, hills, trees are Pushkin's peers. His interlocutors and friends. All the amazing nature of these places ...") comic interrogation.

The Mikhailovskoye reserve really could not boast of genuine museum items: the Mikhailovskoye, Petrovskoye and Trigorskoye estates were plundered and burned during the revolution, the house-museum was restored by the 100th anniversary of Pushkin's death, but the reserve suffered losses during the war - buildings were damaged estates, parks, buildings of the Svyatogorsk monastery, the grave of Pushkin was damaged. The Pushkin scholar Semyon Stepanovich Geychenko was involved in the revival of the museum complex after the war - the Petrovskoye estate, the family estate of the Hannibals, was restored only by 1977, just at that time Dovlatov was working in the reserve.

I think love for birches triumphs at the expense of love for a person. And develops as a surrogate for patriotism

Sergey Dovlatov

In the "Reserve" Alikhanov learns that the "Kern alley" has nothing to do with Pushkin's beloved Anna Petrovna, and the portrait of Pushkin's great-grandfather Abram Petrovich Hannibal, which was hanging in the museum, actually depicts a very tanned Russian general. Dovlatov's contemporaries also had a feeling of fake - the case with the painting, for example, is described in Yuri Nagibin's Diary: “And the linden tree around Geychenko is growing and expanding. It was established here for certain that the famous portrait of the arap Peter the Great, the original of which hangs in the Tretyakov Gallery, actually depicts some Russian general, sunbathing in the southern sun.<…>Geychenko wants to have a portrait of the arap Peter the Great in Petrovsky, and that's it! However, there is one more phony, one less in a prostituted memorial - what does it matter? "

In the Dovlatov story, the director of the museum-reserve is also mentioned (“this is Geichenko's invention”; “Comrade Geichenko's stupid ideas”), but he is not the only one who is to blame for the surrounding falsehood: she is practically spilled in the air here. Museum workers, guides, and tourists, talking about Pushkin, speak with quotations from bad school essays, the place of living speech is taken by clichés about a “great poet” and “a great citizen”. Dovlatov, who, according to the recollections of friends, boiled over from the most innocent truisms, turns the platitudes of the inhabitants of the Pushkin Reserve into material for numerous stinging jokes. It is natural that the sardonic Alikhanov, soon after arriving in the reserve, abandons interrogating poor museum workers and also becomes infected with intellectual apathy (“I mechanically performed my role, receiving a good reward for this”). Artificialness is felt not only in the reserve - the Pskov Kremlin reminds the protagonist of a model, in the nearby village of Sosnovo, where he lives, "monochromatic cows, flat as theatrical scenery" roam. The Dovlatov reserve, which is not accidentally included in the title of the story, does not fit within the boundaries of the real Pushkin reserve. He becomes a metaphor for the entire Soviet country.

Semyon Geychenko, director of the Pushkin Museum-Reserve "Mikhailovskoye". 1983 year

Rudolf Kucherov / RIA Novosti

Is Boris Alikhanov Sergey Dovlatov?

Boris Alikhanov came to the "Zapovednik" from the Dovlatov "Zone", he is also mentioned as a minor character in "Compromise": "But the other day a philologist came with a journalist friend ... Or even, it seems, a translator. He served, he says, as an overseer in the convoy units ... He told terrible stories ... The non-Russian surname was Alikhanov. Undoubtedly an interesting person ...<…>He was a huge young man with a low forehead and a flabby chin. Something falsely Neapolitan gleamed in his eyes. " Alikhanov, as we can see, partially repeats both the biography of Dovlatov (the writer served as a guard in a correctional colony in the Komi Republic for three years), and his appearance. noticed that all the main characters of Dovlatov's texts are similar to the author: “We always remember that the narrator is afraid to hurt his head chandelier " 6 Genis A. Dovlatov and surroundings. M .: Corpus, 2011.S. 157. ⁠ ... In the Zapovednik, Alikhanov seems to reproduce in detail the real story of Dovlatov, but there are significant differences in their experience: Alikhanov, for example, spends only a few summer months in Pushkinskiye Gory, while Dovlatov came to work there for two years in a row, the story is 31 years old, Dovlatov was 34 in his first summer in Mikhailovsky. According to one version, Dovlatov deliberately made his hero the same age as Pushkin during the Boldin autumn.

Almost all the main Dovlatov books are written in the first person, many of them - on behalf of Sergei Dovlatov (for example, "Compromise", "Nashi", "Craft", "Suitcase"), but even in this case we are not talking about the author himself, but about the author-character, a kind of artistically rounded image. The fact that the hero of the "Reserve" Dovlatov gives the surname Alikhanov, and not his own, may indicate the author's desire to distance himself from the narrator and give the story of the cornered writer a more universal character. In a letter to the Zapovednik publisher Igor Efimov, Dovlatov wrote: “I would gladly portray Brodsky, but I cannot reach his inner world, so I will confine myself to an average young author.” In the "Reserve" Dovlatov does not write about himself, he rather conveys his own experience to a character similar to him.

Why is the status of a writer so important for a hero?

Alikhanov is tormented not by the torment of creativity, but by experiences of a different kind: he is not published in the Soviet Union, just as Dovlatov was not. He wants to make a living with literature, and not entertain tourists with learned facts about Pushkin, but it is almost impossible for Alikhanov (as well as for Dovlatov) to get into the echelon of officially recognized writers. The "Zapovednik" sarcastically reviews the state of modern Soviet literature: success is achieved either by the hack, whose texts are protected from censorship by the "reliable armor of literary secondary" ("You found in the writer Volin:" ... It became very clear to me ... " on the same page: "... With boundless clarity, Kim felt ..."), or pathetic villagers ("In the meantime, I read Likhonosov.<…>… It is based on a hopeless, dull, annoying feeling. A slender and boring motive: “Where are you, Rus ?! Where did it all go? "). Alikhanov intuitively tries to try on both roles, but, as a pedant and a cynic, he is defeated.

The lack of an official status of a writer, on the one hand, torments the hero and makes him constantly doubt his own abilities, on the other, this is what serves as a kind of guarantee of his talent. Anatoly Naiman recalled that the Soviet literary underground suffered not only from political pressure, but also from a lack of understanding who deserved what in reality: that you are a genius and that your closest friends are genius because you, your company, is a company of geniuses. For minutes, however, an icy breeze of despair flew in, arising from doubt: what if your talent is not appreciated, not because genius is not available to the public, but because you are mediocrity? There was no other choice: genius or mediocrity. Nobody knew who was worth what, because there was no open market. There was a semblance of literature, music, painting, which appeared in the form of books, symphonies, paintings that fulfilled a number of conditions, in no way connected with art. So there was some starting point: what is recognized is not art. And this, of course, was followed by an illogical conclusion: what is not recognized is brilliant. "

We live in an amazing era. A "good person" sounds like an insult to us. "But he is a good man," they say about the groom, who looks like an obvious insignificance

Sergey Dovlatov "Reserve"

Dovlatov desperately wanted to get published, but the set of his debut collection Five Corners, which was to be published in Tallinn in 1974, was scattered for censorship reasons. After that, the chance to publish their books in the USSR was practically reduced to zero. Having met the publisher Karl Proffer in Leningrad, Dovlatov handed him the manuscript of The Invisible Book (later it will be included in the memoir Craft), where he expounded his literary biography in an ironic manner. Ardis Publishing published it in 1977. The name of the debut looks doubly symbolic: Dovlatov's books were invisible at home, and the writer, living in the Soviet Union, could not see his first book either. For Dovlatov, it was the printed books that were indisputable, material evidence of the literary status, but instead of them he had only a pile of constantly revised manuscripts. In his philological novel about Dovlatov, Alexander Genis noted that it is “unhygienic, spiritually untidy” to live with the manuscript of the book for a long time. The manuscript is like nails, “the intimate part of the author, which over time begins his burden" 7 Genis A. Dovlatov and surroundings. M .: Corpus, 2011.S. 78. ⁠ ... Boris Alikhanov in the "Zapovednik" reproduces Dovlatov's neurotic desire to finally publish his texts. Even in the dramatic scene of parting with his wife, he does not forget to ask her to find Karl Proffer and rush him to publish the book.

According to the recollections of friends, Dovlatov, being a young unrecognized author, attached great importance to literature: “I must tell you that literature, or rather my stories, is the only thing that matters to me ... I am not interested in anything and no one else in life.<…>Except for literature, I am no longer fit for anything - not for political speeches, not for love, not for friendship " 8 ⁠ ... In emigration, when Dovlatov was finally able to quench his thirst for literary recognition, he discovered that the importance of literature in his life was greatly overestimated: “Now I have become elderly, and it turned out that neither Leo Tolstoy nor Faulkner came out of me, although that's all, what I write is published. And some strange things came to the fore: it turned out that I had a family ... ”Alexander Genis believed that, if not for his early death, the topic of disappointment in literature could capture Dovlatov as much as charm her 9 Genis A. Dovlatov and surroundings. M .: Corpus, 2011.S. 80. ⁠ .

Outskirts of the village of Mikhailovskoye. State Museum-Reserve of A.S. Pushkin "Mikhailovskoe". 1969 year

Lev Ustinov / RIA Novosti

Why is the "married" Alikhanov constantly surrounded by women?

The reserve looks like a kingdom of lonely ladies: attentive Galina, touchy Marianna, passionate Natella, romantic Victoria Albertovna, young Aurora. All of them want love from Alikhanov: “It has been a long time since I was the object of such intense female care. In the future, it will manifest itself even more persistently. And it will even grow into pressure. " Dovlatov himself could boast of the attention of women. “He used his spectacular appearance in the tail and in the mane, fighting on the spot saleswomen, hairdressers and waitresses. But not only the representatives of these professions and not only in Leningrad fell under his "Martinidean" charm. I myself have witnessed how lonely, middle-aged literary editors in New York fell into a trance when he appeared, ”Lyudmila recalled. Stern 10 Stern L. Dovlatov is a good friend of mine. Saint Petersburg: Azbuka, 2005. ⁠ ... However, immediately upon arrival at the reserve, Alikhanov is explained that women are not specifically interested in him, they are interested in men as such. This obsession with male attention in the "Reserve" becomes the basis for numerous absurd and even frightening in their absurdity situations:

The bow-legged local tractor driver with the curls of a station whore was surrounded by annoying ruddy fans.

- I'm dying, beer! - he said languidly.

And the girls ran for beer ...

In this context, the only "normal" character is Tanya, Alikhanov's wife, who comes to the reserve to inform him that she is emigrating with their daughter. Formally, the heroes are divorced, but their divorce, in the words of Alikhanov, lost its strength "like an exhausted denatured alcohol." The prototype of Tanya can be considered Elena Dovlatova, the second wife of the writer. She, according to the recollections of Andrei Ariev, also visited her husband in the reserve: “September 3, 1976 - on the day of Seryozha's birth, - having arrived from Leningrad to Pushkinskie Gory, I immediately went to the village of Berezino, where he then lived and had to - according to my calculating - having fun. In the hut, I found his wife Lena, wandering alone over her already disconnected husband. During my absence, the poor interior of the low room was noticeably adorned ... On the wall, next to the dull, cracked mirror, stood out a leaf pinned with a swing with a knife, with a large inscription. "35 years in shit and shame!" It seems that Lena left the next day. "

Unlike numerous women in the reserve, Tanya doesn't really want anything from Alikhanov. Silent, calm “like an ocean,” she decided to leave, and this firm decision becomes an almost existential shock for her husband. The turning point of the story is not the arrival of the hero in the reserve, the focus of absurdity, but the extremely rational decision of his wife to leave this "reserve". It is this decision that launches an invisible, at first glance, spiritual movement in the hero. Sensing him, Alikhanov goes into a binge, but later it will certainly make him follow his wife, as Dovlatov did in reality. Only five words in the dedication of the story make it possible to come to this conclusion: "To my wife, who was right."

Elena Dovlatova. 1981 year

The heroes of the "Reserve" drink deeply. Was that how it was?

If all the women of the Zapovednik are obsessed with finding a man, then all his men are obsessed with finding a bottle. Stasik Pototsky is drinking, Mitrofanov is drinking, photographer Markov is a "complete drunkard", it is mentioned that Tanya's brother has liver problems. The most striking expression of the general alcoholic delirium is the villager Michal Ivanovich, in whose house the narrator rents a room. During the whole summer, he saw his master sober only twice ("He drank incessantly. To amazement, paralysis and delirium. Moreover, he raved only obscenities"). Major Belyaev, explaining the political situation in the country to the dissident Alikhanov, concludes: “Do you want to know where the Khan of Soviet power will come from? I will tell you. Hana will come from vodka. Now, I think, sixty percent of the working people are getting kicked up by the evening. And the numbers are growing. The day will come when everyone, without exception, will get drunk. " This conversation, of course, also goes with vodka. Belyaev is not far from the truth - during the era of Brezhnev's stagnation, alcohol consumption in the USSR reached record levels. If in the 1960s Soviet people consumed an average of 4.6 liters of alcohol per year, then by the beginning of the 1980s this figure was 14.2 liters. For one adult man there were 180 half-liter bottles of vodka a year, that is, 1 bottle for two days.

Alikhanov, the protagonist of the "Reserve", does not just drink, he is a chronic alcoholic. In fact, the entire plot of the story can be reduced to the story of his short remission between two hard drinking. "The Reserve" begins with a scene in which the hero is looking for a buffet at the station to get drunk. His hands are shaking, so both have to take the glass of beer. Alcohol tremor usually occurs as a result of prolonged intoxication: alcohol toxins disrupt the functioning of the central nervous system, an uncontrolled muscle contraction occurs in a person. Before coming to the reserve Alikhanov, apparently, drank a lot and for a long time. After leaving the reserve, he drinks even more, bringing himself to hallucinations.

Ask the person the question: "Do you have binges?" - and the person will calmly answer - no. Or maybe she will willingly agree. But the question "Did you sleep?" most experience almost as an insult

Sergey Dovlatov

Binges are also reflected in Alikhanov's psychological state: he suffers from bouts of desperate self-flagellation (he chooses an unsuitable room for life in the village, as if on purpose punishing himself) and almost a split personality. Pototsky says about him: "Borka is sober and Borka is drunk, people are so different that they don't even know each other ..." Giving Mikhal Ivanych a ruble every day "for a drink", Alikhanov not only pays money for renting a room, he symbolically pays off fate, trying to postpone the inevitable onset of a new binge.

Dovlatov, like his hero, suffered from alcoholism. Lyudmila Stern Lyudmila Yakovlevna Stern (nee Davidovich; born 1935) - writer, journalist, translator. Before emigration, she worked as a geologist. In 1976 she moved to America with her husband. She was friends with Sergei Dovlatov, Joseph Brodsky, wrote books of memoirs about them. Lives in Boston and is a research fellow at Brandeis University. ⁠ described the influence of hard drinking on his character: “His 'Niagara' mood swings reflected a certain period associated with alcohol. The pre-drunken - anticipation and nervousness, the epicenter of the binge - spite and rudeness, the post-drunken - meekness, oaths and bitter self-contempt ”. This feeling of guilt, the constant self-flagellation of the narrator can be seen in many of Dovlatov's texts. For example, in “Branch”: “I only cursed and hated myself. I experienced all the misfortunes as payment for my own sins. Any offense was perceived as the result of my own transgression.<…>Feelings of guilt began to take on the character of a mental illness in me.

Lev Losev's farewell party before leaving for emigration. Leningrad, January 1976

How does Dovlatov make Zapovednik funny?

The central plot of the "Reserve" looks heavy, slowly developing, devoid of sharp turns, but thanks to the small anecdotal novellas strung on its axis, or, as Viktor Toporov put it, "micro-absurdities", the story leaves a feeling of lightness. Igor Sukhikh noted that “Dovlatov is easy to read avidly ... but difficult to read diagonally. The text swells with plots, micro-culminations, the key phrase can flash at any point in the plot space " 11 Sukhikh I. N. Sergei Dovlatov: time, place, destiny. Saint Petersburg: Azbuka, 2010.S. 59. ⁠ ... The anecdote of Dovlatov's prose grew out of late Soviet speech practices: telling anecdotes was an important part of informal communication. “We are so accustomed to sitting in a close company, like the latest news to tell jokes or at least remember who remembers what, that we ourselves do not see, do not notice our happiness: that we live with jokes - in the era of oral folk creativity, in the era of prosperity of a huge folklore genre ", - wrote Andrei Sinyavsky in 1978 in the essay" Anecdote in anecdote " 12 Sinyavsky A.D. Literary process in Russia. M .: RGGU, 2003.S. 232-243. ⁠ .

Dovlatov tried to bring the anecdote from the folklore ghetto into big literature, while he did not invent jokes, but rather knew how to find them where no one thought to look. For example, he assured that Dostoevsky was one of the funniest authors in Russian literature, and believed that it was necessary to write a research paper about this. Dovlatov, in the words of Genis, “guarded a word that did not hears " 13 Genis A. Dovlatov and surroundings. M .: Corpus, 2011.S. 50. ⁠ ... The funny in Dovlatov's prose is usually associated with incorrect word usage, lexical incongruity, and most often with the impossibility of communication as such. Most of the anecdotal micronovels of the "Reserve" are due to the fact that people do not hear each other and do not understand, how in the literal sense (for example, in a scene in which Mitrofanov cannot speak articulately due to a wasp bite: - he said. - What? - asked my wife. - Y-y-a, - repeated Mitrofanov "), and in a figurative. For example, in a conversation between Alikhanov and a tourist:

A man in a Tyrolean hat approached me shyly:
- Excuse me, may I ask a question?
- Listen to you.
- They gave it?
- That is?
- I ask, was it given? - The Tyrolean drew me to the open window.
- In what sense?
- In direct. I would like to know whether it was given or not? If not, say so.
- I do not understand.
The man blushed slightly and began to hastily explain:
- I had a postcard ... I am a philocartist ...
- Who?
- Philokartist. Collecting postcards ... Philos - love, kartos ...
- It's clear.
- I have a color postcard - "Pskov gave." And so I ended up here. I would like to ask - was it given?
- In general, they gave it, - I say.
- Typically Pskov?
- Not without it.

All Dovlatov's "micro-absurdities" develop according to one scenario - the expectation in them never corresponds to the result: a calm, quiet conversation can turn into an outbreak of anger, and the escalation of tension - unexpected reconciliation. Dovlatov's lyric hero, on the one hand, avoids absurd situations, even perceives them as a danger, constantly yearning for normality, on the other hand, he admires them and involuntarily becomes a part of them (“I always listen to the outpourings of some monsters. something conducive to madness ... "). wrote that the originality of Dovlatov's prose lies in the combination of absurdity and epic, fragmentariness and monumentality. If the epic usually establishes connections between man and the universe, then the absurd just demonstrates their discontinuity, complete incoherence. However, Dovlatov's absurdity "has a special" latent warmth "that reveals (or confirms) human kinship." Dovlatov unites his heroes with absurdity, makes it the basis of order, and this omnipresent illogicality paradoxically makes the world clearer and safer 14 Lipovetsky M. "And the broken mirror ..." ⁠ .

Sergei Dovlatov in the Pushkin Hills. 1977 year

Trigorsky park. State Museum-Reserve of A.S. Pushkin "Mikhailovskoe". 1970 year

Vladimir Savostyanov / TASS

The heroes of the "Reserve" are written off from real people. Are the situations in which they find themselves also real?

All the characters in the story have real prototypes - from the drunkard Mikhal Ivanych to the former informer Lenya Gribanov. In some cases, Dovlatov pointed to them, in others - relatives and friends of the writer, in the third - the inhabitants of the reserve and the surrounding area were found themselves. Dovlatov, using real people as characters (albeit under fictitious names), creates such a believable world that readers unwittingly take fictional prose for biographical. However, at the very first approximation, it turns out that Dovlatov handles the facts freely, and situations related to very specific people can even be invented. For example, the acquaintance of the writer with his wife Elena has three different artistic interpretations: in the "Reserve" they meet at the party of the painter Lobanov, in "Suitcase" - Lena comes to his house as a pre-election agitator, in "Nashi" - the hero of Dovlatova finds her sleeping at home after the party ("Gurevich forgot me"). At the same time, according to the sister of the writer Ksenia Mechik-Blank, none of these dating options are true. Pointing to the actual inconsistencies, Mechik-Blank also noticed that in Dovlatov's story about his son Nicholas, the date of his birth was changed by two days, and in one of the stories her husband was for some reason named Lenya and a Zionist, although neither one nor the other corresponds reality 15 Mechik-Blank K. From Dovlatov's letters to his father // Star. 2008. No. 1. S. 98-114. ⁠ .

People who recognized themselves in Dovlatov's characters often took offense at the writer. Many offended people remained in the Pushkin Reserve, and in the Tallinn newspaper described in the Compromise, and in the American editorial office of Radio Liberty, which ended up in the Branch. Peter Weil recalled: “Stylistic truth was much dearer to him. The same is in oral stories. Sergey wrote a lot and willingly about his acquaintances. And more than once I watched him tell tales about people who were sitting right there, hanging their ears no worse than others, as if it was not about them. About one solid, self-satisfied person, with a slow weighty speech, Sergei reported: "Venya told me yesterday:" Klara and I decided ... that in our refrigerator ... there will always be ... mineral water for friends. " Dovlatov observed the plausibility that was truer than the facts - that's why his slander was believed unconditionally. "

Are there positive and negative characters in the "Reserve"?

If there is, then Dovlatov does not betray his attitude towards them, for him they are all the same - funny, crazy and somewhat cute. The graphomaniac and rascal Stasik Pototsky is no worse and no better than the “fantastic lazy man” Mitrofanov, and the “Russian dissident” photographer Markov is the gendarme and security officer Belyaev. It is surprising that Dovlatov - a writer banned in the USSR, emigrated to America and revolving in a circle of dissidents - was not at all interested in politics. Instead of "patriots" and "democrats", he saw first of all people who were captured by ideological clichés. From "Solo on Underwood":

- Tolya, - I call Naiman, - let's go visit Leva Druskin.
- I won't go, - he says, - he's some kind of Soviet.
- That is, how is it Soviet? You are wrong!
- Well, anti-Soviet. Who cares.

In the story "Filial" there is a characteristic dialogue between the journalist Dalmatov and Barry Tarasovich, the head of the radio "Third Wave", which was inspired by the radio "Liberty":

Barry Tarasovich continued:
- Do not write that Moscow is rattling its weapons in a frenzy. That the Kremlin gerontocrats are holding a sclerotic finger ...
I interrupted him:
- On the trigger of the war?
- How do you know?
- I wrote this in Soviet newspapers for ten years.
- About the Kremlin gerontocrats?
“No, about the Pentagon hawks.

The presumption of not only ideological, but also any other guilt has been removed from the world of Dovlatov's prose. All its weight is transferred to the narrator. Dovlatov, although he sneers at his characters, never judges them, presenting them as something like “illustrations for the textbook natural history " 17 Genis A. Dovlatov and surroundings. M .: Corpus, 2011.S. 221. ⁠ ... Critic Nikita Eliseev linked this author's view directly with the atmosphere of the Soviet 1970s: “At Dovlatov, both KGB Major Belyaev and the writer Boris Alikhanov are equally attractive. Two drunken goons, who in FIGs have sent any ideology and talked to each other in a human way. In fact, it was a short moment when Yesterday is gone, and Tomorrow has not come yet. Therefore, now Dovlatov's stories are read as historical stories about the past, for his world, the world of charming funny eccentrics, lazy people, rascals, harmless cynics, drunkards, is this world religion 19 Serman I. Theater of Sergei Dovlatov // Grani. 1985. No. 136. S. 138-162.⁠. It is no accident that Abram Tertz's ironic literary essay "Walking with Pushkin", a fragment of which was first published in the USSR in 1989, was perceived by many critics as a trampling on sacred things.

Alikhanov does not speak directly about his love for Pushkin, but Pushkin's influence can be found at many levels of the text of the "Preserve". For example, in the description of the controversial image of Mikhal Ivanovich, who once hung cats on mountain ash, but was so delicate that he sat on the porch until morning, afraid to wake up the guest, you can find an allusion to Pushkin's story "Dubrovsky" (the blacksmith Arkhip burns people in a locked house, but at the same time, risking his life, he saves a cat running on a burning roof). In a conversation with Natella ("- And you are a dangerous person. - That is? - I felt it right away. You are a terribly dangerous person") - a quote from Pushkin's "The Stone Guest" ("Dona Anna: Go away - you are a dangerous person. Don Juan : Dangerous! What? Dona Anna: I'm afraid to listen to you "). The names of Alikhanov's wife and daughter seem not accidental: wife Tanya - in honor of Tatyana from "Eugene Onegin", and daughter Masha - in honor of Masha Mironova from "Captain daughters " 20 Sukhikh I. N. Sergei Dovlatov: time, place, destiny. SPb .: Azbuka, 2010.S. 153. ⁠ ... Tormented by self-doubt, Alikhanov retells in his own words Pushkin's maxim "The poet's words are already his work" ("You must either live or write. Either a word or a deed. But your work is a word"), and he compares himself with Pushkin ( "I kept repeating to myself: - Pushkin also had debts and unimportant relations with the state. And trouble happened to his wife. Not to mention his difficult character ...").

Alexander Genis concluded that Dovlatov's "Zapovednik" was modeled after Pushkin's image and likeness, even if it is not noticeable at first glance: "A clever one hides a leaf in the forest, a man in a crowd, Pushkin in a Pushkin reserve." The hero of the "Reserve" does not adore the poet, but he metaphorically lives his fate: "If the Reserve guards the letter of Pushkin's myth, the other, the one that Dovlatov described, keeps it spirit" 21 Genis A. Dovlatov and surroundings. M .: Corpus, 2011.S. 217. ⁠ .

bibliography

• Genis A. A. Dovlatov and surroundings. M .: Corpus, 2011.
• Zernova R.A. Country neighbors // Neva. 2005. No. 10. P. 115–126
• Eliseev N.L. Human voice // New world. 1994. No. 11. P. 212–225.
• Efimov I. M. Epistolary affair with Sergei Dovlatov. M .: Zakharov, 2001.

• Kovalova A., Lurie L. Dovlatov. Saint Petersburg: Amphora, 2009.
• Kurganov E. Ya. Anecdote as a genre of Russian literature. M .: ArsisBooks, 2015.
• Kurganov E. Ya.Sergey Dovlatov and the line of anecdote in Russian prose // Word \ Word. 2009. No. 62, pp. 492–507.
• Lipovetskiy M. N. "And the broken mirror ..."
• Losev L. Alexander Genis. Dovlatov and surroundings // Banner. 1999. No. 11. P. 222–223.
• Mechik-Blank K. From Dovlatov's letters to his father // Star. 2008. No. 1. P. 98–114.
• Little-known Dovlatov: collection. SPb .: AOZT "Zvezda" magazine, 1999.
• Nyman A. Characters in search of the author // Star. 1994. No. 3. P. 125–128.
• Pekurovskaya A. When it happened to sing to S. D. and me: Sergei Dovlatov through the eyes of his first wife. SPb .: Symposium, 2001.
• Correspondence between Sergei Dovlatov and Nina Berberova // Star. 2016. No. 9. P. 34–44.
• Popov V.G. Dovlatov. Moscow: Young Guard, 2010.
• Semkin A. Why Sergei Dovlatov wanted to be like Chekhov // Neva. 2009. No. 12, pp. 147–159.
• Serman I.Z.Serman Dovlatov Theater // Grani. 1985. No. 136, pp. 138–162.
• Sinyavsky A.D. Literary process in Russia. Moscow: RGGU, 2003.
• Sukhikh I.N.Sergey Dovlatov. Time. place, destiny. SPb .: Azbuka, 2010.
• Stern L. Ya. Dovlatov is a good friend of mine. Saint Petersburg: Azbuka, 2005.

The entire list of references

To my wife who was right

Published with the kind permission of Elena and Ekaterina Dovlatov

S. Dovlatov (heirs), 2001, 2012

A. Ariev, afterword, 2001

LLC "Publishing Group" Azbuka-Atticus "", 2013

Publishing house AZBUKA®

At twelve they arrived at Luga. We stopped at the station square. The girl-tour guide changed her lofty tone to a more earthy one:

- There is one place to the left ...

My neighbor raised himself with interest:

- You mean a restroom?

All the way he harassed me: "A six-letter bleaching agent? .. An endangered artiodactyl? .. An Austrian skier? .."

Tourists came out to the light-flooded square. The driver slammed the door and squatted at the radiator.

The train station ... A dirty yellow building with columns, a clock, shimmering neon letters discolored by the sun ...

I crossed the lobby with a newsstand and massive cement bins. Intuitively revealed the buffet.

“Through the waiter,” the barmaid said listlessly. A corkscrew dangled from her shallow chest.

I sat down by the door. A minute later a waiter appeared with huge felt sideburns.

- What do you want?

- I want, - I say, - that everyone was benevolent, modest and kind.

The waiter, fed up with the variety of life, was silent.

- I would like one hundred grams of vodka, beer and two sandwiches.

- With sausage, probably ...

I took out cigarettes and lit a cigarette. Hands trembled hideously. “I wouldn’t drop the glass…” And then two intelligent old women sat down next to them. Like from our bus.

The waiter brought a decanter, a bottle and two sweets.

“The sandwiches are over,” he said with false tragedy.

I paid. He raised and immediately lowered the glass. Hands were shaking like an epileptic. The old women looked at me with disgust. I tried to smile:

- Look at me with love!

The old women shuddered and sat down. I heard vague critical interjections.

To hell with them, I think. He grabbed the glass with both hands and drank it. Then he unrolled the candy with a rustle.

It got a little easier. A deceptive enthusiasm was born. I put a bottle of beer in my pocket. Then he got up, nearly knocking over a chair. Rather, a duralumin chair. The old women continued to look at me in fright.

I went out to the square. The fence of the square was covered with warped plywood boards. The diagrams promised mountains of meat, wool, eggs and other intimacy in the near future.

The men were smoking near the bus. The women sat down noisily. The girl guide was eating ice cream in the shade. I took a step towards her:

- Let's get acquainted.

“Aurora,” she said, holding out a sticky hand.

- And I, - I say, - the tanker Derbent.

The girl was not offended.

- Everyone laughs at my name. I'm used to ... What's the matter with you? You are red!

- I assure you, it's only outside. Inside I am a constitutional democrat.

- No, is it really bad for you?

- I drink a lot ... Do you want beer?

- Why are you drinking? She asked.

What could I answer?

- It's a secret, - I say, - a little secret ...

- Have you decided to work in the reserve?

- That's it.

- I understood immediately.

- Do I look like a philologist?

- You saw off Mitrofanov. An extremely erudite Pushkin scholar. Do you know him well?

- Well, - I say, - from the bad side ...

- Like this?

- Do not attach importance.

- Read Gordin, Schegolev, Tsiavlovskaya ... Kern's memoirs ... And some popular brochure about the dangers of alcohol.

- You know, I've read so much about the dangers of alcohol! I decided to quit forever ... read.

- It's impossible to talk to you ...

The driver looked in our direction. The sightseers sat down.

Aurora finished her ice cream and wiped her fingers.

“In the summer,” she said, “they pay pretty well in the reserve. Mitrofanov earns about two hundred rubles.

- And this is two hundred rubles more than it costs.

- And you are also evil!

“You’ll be angry,” I say.

The driver honked twice.

“Let's go,” Aurora said.

The Lviv bus was cramped. The calico seats are hot. The yellow curtains intensified the feeling of stuffiness.

I leafed through the "Diaries" of Alexei Wolfe. They talked about Pushkin in a friendly, sometimes condescending manner. Here it is, closeness, detrimental to sight. It is clear to everyone that geniuses must have acquaintances. But who will believe that his acquaintance is a genius ?!

I dozed off. Some superfluous information about Ryleev's mother came vaguely ...

They woke me up already in Pskov. The newly plastered walls of the Kremlin were depressing. Above the central arch, the designers reinforced an ugly, Baltic-looking, forged emblem. The Kremlin resembled an enormous model.

In one of the outbuildings there was a local travel agency. Aurora certified some papers, and we were taken to Geru, the most fashionable local restaurant.

I hesitated - add or not add? Add - tomorrow it will be really bad. I didn't want to eat ...

I went out onto the boulevard. Linden trees rustled deeply and heavily.

I was convinced for a long time: if you think about it, you immediately remember something sad. For example, the last conversation with my wife ...

“Even your love of words, insane, unhealthy, pathological love, is false. This is just an attempt to justify the life that you lead. And you lead the lifestyle of a famous writer, without having the most minimal prerequisites for this ... With your vices, you need to be at least Hemingway ...

- Do you really think he is a good writer? Maybe Jack London is a good writer too?

- My God! What does Jack London have to do with it ?! I have the only boots in the pawnshop ... I can forgive everything. And poverty does not scare me ... Everything, except betrayal!

- What do you mean?

- Your eternal drunkenness. Yours ... I don't even want to say ... You can't be an artist at the expense of another person ... This is mean! You talk so much about nobility! And he himself is a cold, cruel, resourceful person ...

“Don't forget that I've been writing stories for twenty years.

- Do you want to write a great book? One out of hundreds of millions succeeds!

- So what? Spiritually, such a failed attempt equals the greatest book ever. If you want, she is morally even higher. Since it excludes remuneration ...

- These are words. Endless beautiful words ... I'm tired of ... I have a child for whom I am responsible ...

- I also have a child.

“That you’ve been ignoring for months.” We are strangers for you ...

(There is one painful moment in a conversation with a woman. You bring facts, arguments, arguments. You appeal to logic and common sense. And suddenly you discover that she is disgusted with the very sound of your voice ...)

- Deliberately, - I say, - I did not do evil ...

I sat down on a gentle bench. He took out a pen and notebook. A minute later I wrote down:

My poems were somewhat ahead of reality. It was about a hundred kilometers to the Pushkinskie Gory.

I went to the hardware store. I got an envelope with a picture of Magellan. I asked for some reason:

- Do you know what Magellan has to do with it?

The seller thoughtfully replied:

- Maybe he died ... Or the hero was given ...

I put a stamp, sealed it, put it down ...

At six we drove up to the building of the tourist base. Before that there were hills, a river, a wide horizon with an uneven forest edge. In general, the Russian landscape is no frills. Those everyday signs of him that cause an inexplicably bitter feeling.

This feeling has always struck me as suspicious. In general, the passion for inanimate objects annoys me ... (I mentally opened my notebook.) There is something flawed in numismatists, philatelists, avid travelers, lovers of cacti and aquarium fish. I am alien to the sleepy longsuffering of a fisherman, the fruitless unmotivated courage of the climber, the proud confidence of the owner of the royal poodle ...

They say Jews are indifferent to nature. This is one of the reproaches against the Jewish nation. Jews do not have their own nature, but they are indifferent to someone else's. Well, maybe so. Obviously, there is an admixture of Jewish blood in me ...

In short, I do not like enthusiastic contemplators. And I don't really trust their enthusiasm. I think love for birches triumphs at the expense of love for a person. And it develops as a surrogate for patriotism ...

I agree, you regret and love a sick, paralyzed mother more sharply. However, admiring her sufferings, expressing them aesthetically is meanness ...

We drove up to the tourist base. Some idiot built it four kilometers from the nearest body of water. The ponds, lakes, the famous river, and the base is in the sun. True, there are rooms with showers ... Occasionally - hot water ...

We go to the tour desk. There is such a lady, the dream of a retirement. Aurora handed her a waybill. She signed, received dinner stamps for the group. She whispered something to this curvy blonde who immediately looked at me. The look contained unyielding, fluent interest, business concern, and mild anxiety. She even straightened up somehow. The papers rustled more sharply.

- You don't know each other? Aurora asked.

I came closer.

- I want to work in the reserve.

“People are needed,” said the blonde.

There was an ellipsis at the end of this line. That is, it is precisely good, qualified specialists that are needed. And random people, they say, are not required ...

- Do you know the exposition? - asked the blonde and unexpectedly introduced herself: - Galina Alexandrovna.

- I've been here three times.

- This is not enough.

- Agree. So I came again ...

- You need to properly prepare. Study the training manual. There is still so much unexplored in Pushkin's life ... Something has changed since last year ...

- In the life of Pushkin? - I was surprised.

“Sorry,” Aurora interrupted. “The tourists are waiting for me. Good luck…

She disappeared - young, alive, complete. Tomorrow I will hear her pure girlish voice in one of the rooms of the museum:

"... Think about it, comrades! .." I loved you so sincerely, so tenderly ... "Alexander Sergeevich opposed the world of serf relations with this inspired anthem of disinterestedness ..."

“Not in Pushkin’s life,” the blonde said irritably, “but in the museum's exposition. For example, they shot a portrait of Hannibal.

- Why?

- Some activist claims that this is not Hannibal. The orders, you see, do not correspond. Allegedly, this is General Zakomelsky.

- Who is it really?

- And in fact - Zakomelsky.

- Why is he so black?

- I fought with Asians in the south. It's hot there. So he got tanned. And the colors darken with time.

- So it’s right that they took it off?

- What's the difference - Hannibal, Zakomelsky ... Tourists want to see Hannibal. They pay money for it. What about Zakomelsky ?! Here is our director and hanged Hannibal ... More precisely, Zakomelsky under the guise of Hannibal. And some activist didn't like it ... Excuse me, are you married?

Galina Aleksandrovna uttered this phrase suddenly and, I would say, shyly.

- Divorced, - I say, - and what?

- Our girls are interested.

- What girls?

- They are gone now. Accountant, methodologist, guides ...

- Why are they interested in me?

- They're not you. They are interested in everyone. We have a lot of lonely people here. The guys left ... Whom do our girls see? Tourists? What about tourists? It's good if they have eight days. They come from Leningrad for a day. Or three ... And you for a long time?

- Until the fall. If everything going to be good.

- Where are you staying? Do you want me to call the hotel? We have two of them, good and bad. Which one do you prefer?

- Here, - I say, - we need to think.

“A good one is more expensive,” Galya explained.

- Okay, - I said, - there is no money anyway ...

She immediately called somewhere. It took a long time to persuade someone. Finally the issue was resolved. Somewhere they wrote down my name.

- I'll show you.

It has been a long time since I was the object of such intense female care. In the future, it will manifest itself even more persistently. And it will even develop into pressure.

In the beginning, I attributed it to my faded personality. Then he became convinced how huge the male deficit is in these parts. The bow-legged local tractor driver with the curls of a station whore was surrounded by annoying ruddy admirers.

- I'm dying, beer! - he said languidly.

And the girls ran for beer ...

Galya locked the door of the tour desk. We headed through the forest towards the village.

- Do you love Pushkin? She asked unexpectedly.

Something in me trembled, but I answered:

- I love ... The Bronze Horseman, prose ...

- And the poetry?

- I love the later poems very much.

- And the early ones?

- I love the early ones too, - I gave up.

- Here everything lives and breathes Pushkin, - said Galya, - literally every twig, every blade of grass. So you expect it to come out now from around the corner ... A cylinder, a lionfish, a familiar profile ...

Meanwhile, Lenya Guryanov, a former university informer, came out from behind the corner.

- Borka, horseradish walrus, - he screamed wildly, - is it you ?!

I responded with unexpected cordiality. Another bastard took me by surprise. I never have time to concentrate ...

- I knew that you would come, - Guryanov did not calm down ...

Subsequently, I was told the following story. There was a booze here at the beginning of the season. Someone's wedding or birthday. A local security officer was present. They started talking about me. Someone from mutual acquaintances said:

- He's in Tallinn.

They objected:

- No, it's been a year since Leningrad.

- And I heard that in Riga at Krasilnikov's ...

New versions followed.

The Chekist was concentrating on stewed duck.

Then he raised his head and spoke briefly:

- There is evidence - going to Pushkinskie Gory ...

“They are waiting for me,” said Guryanov, as if I were holding him back.

He looked at Galya:

- And you look prettier. Did you put your teeth in?

His pockets bulged heavily.

- What an asshole! - suddenly said Galina. And a minute later: - How good that Pushkin does not see this.

“Yes,” I said, “that's not bad.

The first floor of the Druzhba Hotel was occupied by three institutions. Grocery store, hairdresser and restaurant "Lukomorye". It would be necessary, I think, to invite Galina for all her services. I captured very little money. One sweeping gesture threatened disaster.

I said nothing.

We approached the barrier, behind which was a woman administrator. Galya introduced me. The woman held out a weighty key with the number 231.

- And tomorrow find a room, - said Galina, - you can in the village ... You can at Voronin, only it's expensive ... You can in one of the nearest villages: Savkino, Gayki ...

- Thank you, - I say, - helped out.

- Well, I went.

The phrase ended with a barely perceptible question mark: "Well, I went? .."

- To see you off?

“I live in a neighborhood,” the girl reacted mysteriously.

Then - clearly and distinctly, too clearly and distinctly:

- It is not necessary to see off ... And do not think that I am so ...

She walked away, nodding proudly to the receptionist.

I went up to the second floor and unlocked the door. The bed was neatly made. The loudspeaker made intermittent sounds. Hangers dangled from the bar of the open closet.

In this room, in this narrow boat, I sailed to the unknown shores of an independent bachelor life.

I took a shower, washing off the delicate sediment of Galina's troubles, the plaque of the wet bus tightness, the scab of a many-day feast.

The mood has improved markedly. The cold shower acted like a harsh cry.

I dried myself off, pulled on gymnastic pants and lit a cigarette.

In the corridor came the sound of footsteps. Music sounded somewhere. Trucks and countless mopeds rustled under the windows.

I lay down on top of the blanket, opened the gray volume of Viktor Likhonosov. Finally decided to find out what kind of country prose? Get yourself some kind of guidebook ...

Reading, I fell asleep imperceptibly. I woke up at two in the morning. The early summer dusk filled the room. It was already possible to count the leaves of the ficus tree on the window.

I decided to think it over calmly. Try to dispel the feeling of a catastrophe, a dead end.

Life spread around an endless minefield. I was in the center. It was necessary to divide this field into sections and get down to business. Break the chain of dramatic circumstances. Analyze the feeling of collapse. Study each factor separately.

A man has been writing stories for twenty years. I am convinced that I took up the pen for some reason. The people he trusts are ready to testify.

You are not published, not published. They are not accepted into their company. Into your gang of gangsters. But did you dream about this, mumbling the first lines?

Are you seeking justice? Calm down, this fruit doesn't grow here. Several shining truths were supposed to change the world for the better, but what really happened? ..

You have a dozen readers. God grant that there are even fewer of them ...

You don't get paid - that's bad. Money is freedom, space, whims ... Having money, it is so easy to endure poverty ...

Learn to earn them without being hypocritical. Go to work as a loader, write at night. Mandelstam said people will keep everything they need. So write ...

You have the ability to do this - you might not. Write, create a masterpiece. Soul your reader. For a single living person ... A lifelong task.

And if it doesn't work out? Well, as you said yourself, the failed attempt is morally nobler. If only because it is not rewarded ...

Write, since you have already undertaken, carry this load. The more weighty it is, the easier ...

Are you oppressed by debt? Who didn't have them ?! Do not worry. After all, this is the only thing that truly connects you with people ...

Looking back, do you see the ruins? This was to be expected. He who lives in the world of words does not get along with things.

You envy anyone who calls himself a writer. Who can, having pulled out the certificate, document this.

But what do your contemporaries write? You found in the writer Volin:

"... It became very clear to me ..."

And on the same page:

"... With boundless clarity, Kim felt ..."

The word is upside down. The contents spilled out of it. Rather, there was no content. The words piled up intangible, like the shadow of an empty bottle ...

Ah, not about that, not about that we are talking about! .. How tired of your eternal tricks! ..

It is impossible to live. You have to either live or write. Either word or deed. But your business is the word. And any business with a capital letter is hateful to you. Around him is a zone of dead space. Everything that interferes with business perishes there. Hopes, illusions, memories are dying there. Poor, indisputable, unambiguous materialism reigns there ...

And again - not that, not that ...

What have you turned your wife into? She was simple-minded, flirtatious, loved to have fun. You made her jealous, suspicious and nervous. Her constant phrase: "What do you mean by this?" - a monument to your resourcefulness ...

Your ugliness reached curiosities. Do you remember how you came back at about four in the morning and began to unlace your shoes. The wife woke up and groaned:

- Lord, where so early ?!

“It's a bit early, a little early, indeed,” you muttered.

And then he quickly undressed and lay down ...

What can I say ...

Morning. Footsteps drowned out by the scarlet carpet. Sudden intermittent murmur of the loudspeaker. Water splash behind the wall. Trucks under the windows. An unexpected distant crow of a rooster ...

In childhood, summer was sounded by the honking of steam locomotives. Suburban summer cottages ... The smell of station burning and hot sand ... Table tennis under the branches ... The tight and resonant sound of a ball ... Dancing on the veranda (your older brother entrusted you to start the gramophone) ... Gleb Romanov ... Ruzhena Sikora ... “This song is for two soldi, for two pennies ... "," I dreamed of you in Bucharest in reality ... ".

A beach scorched by the sun ... Hard sedge ... Long pants and traces of elastic bands on the calves ... Sand crammed into the sandals ...

There was a knock on the door:

- To the phone!

“This is a misunderstanding,” I say.

- Are you Alikhanov?

I was escorted to my sister's room. I picked up the phone.

- You slept? - asked Galina.

I objected fervently.

I noticed long ago that people react to this question with excessive fervor. Ask the person the question: "Do you have binges?" - and the person will calmly answer - no. Or maybe she will willingly agree. But the question "Did you sleep?" most experience almost as an insult. As an attempt to convict a person of villainy ...

- I agreed on the room.

- Well, thank you.

- In the village of Sosnovo. Five minutes from the camp site. Separate entrance.

- This is the main thing.

- The owner, however, drinks ...

- Another trump card.

- Remember the name - Sorokin. Mikhail Ivanovich ... You will go through the tourist center along the ravine. You can already see the village from the mountain. The fourth house ... Or maybe the fifth. Yes you will find. There is a dump nearby ...

- Thank you, honey.

The tone changed dramatically:

- What am I dear to you ?! Oh, I'm dying ... Sweetheart ... Tell me please ... Found sweetheart ...

In the future, I was more than once amazed at these instant Galina transformations. Lively participation, hospitality and simplicity were replaced by loud intonations of offended chastity. Normal speech - shrill provincial dialect ...

- And don't think anything like that!

- This - never. And again - thanks ...

I went to the camp site. It was crowded this time. All around were colorful cars. Tourists in resort hats wandered in groups and singly. A queue lined up at the newsstand. From the open windows of the dining room came the clink of crockery and the screeching of metal stools. Several well-fed mongrels were frolicking here.

At every step I saw images of Pushkin. Even near the mysterious brick booth with the inscription "Flammable!" The similarity was limited to sideburns. Their sizes varied arbitrarily. I noticed a long time ago: our artists have favorite objects, where there is no limit to scope and inspiration. First of all, this is Karl Marx's beard and Ilyich's forehead ...

The loudspeaker was turned on at full power:

- Attention! This is the radio center of the Pushkinogorsk tourist base. We announce the order of the day for today ...

I went to the tour desk. Galina was besieged by tourists. She waved her hand to tell me to wait.

I took the brochure "The Pearl of the Crimea" from the shelf. He took out cigarettes.

The guides, having received some papers, left. Tourists ran after them to the buses. Several "wild" families were eager to join the groups. They were occupied by a tall, thin girl.

A man in a Tyrolean hat approached me shyly:

- Excuse me, may I ask a question?

- Listen to you.

- They gave it?

- That is?

- I ask, was it given? - The Tyrolean led me to the open window.

- In what sense?

- In direct. I would like to know whether it was given or not? If not, say so.

- I do not understand.

The man blushed slightly and began to hastily explain:

- I had a postcard ... I am a philocartist ...

- Philokartist. Collecting postcards ... Philos - love, kartos ...

- I have a color postcard - "Pskov gave." And so I ended up here. I would like to ask - was it given?

- In general, they gave it, - I say.

- Typically Pskov?

- Not without it.

The man, beaming, walked away ...

The rush hour has passed. The bureau was empty.

- Every summer the influx of tourists increases, - explained Galina.

- The prophecy was fulfilled: "The sacred path will not overgrow! .." Distorted quote. Pushkin has a "folk path".

It won't overgrow, I think. Where is she, poor, overgrown. Squadrons of tourists have trampled it down long ago ...

“It's a terrible mess here in the morning,” said Galina.

I again marveled at the unexpected variety of her vocabulary.

Galya introduced me to the bureau instructor - Lyudmila. I will secretly admire her smooth legs until the end of the season. Luda was calm and friendly. This was due to the presence of the groom. She was not disfigured by the constant readiness for indignant rebuff. So far, the groom was in prison ...

Then an ugly woman in her thirties appeared — a Methodist. Her name was Marianna Petrovna. Marianne had a neglected face without defects and an imperceptibly bad figure.

I explained the purpose of my visit. Smiling skeptically, she invited me into a private office.

- Do you love Pushkin?

I experienced a dull irritation.

So, I think, and stop loving for long.

- And you can ask - for what?

I caught an ironic look on myself. Obviously, love for Pushkin was the most popular currency here. What if, they say, I'm a counterfeiter ...

- That is, as? - I ask.

- Why do you love Pushkin?

- Let's, - I could not resist, - stop this idiotic exam. I graduated from high school. Then - the university. (Here I exaggerated a little. I was kicked out of the third year.) I read something. In general, I understand ... Yes, and I only pretend to be a guide ...

Fortunately, my harsh tone went unnoticed. As I later became convinced, elementary rudeness came off easier here than imaginary aplomb ...

- And still? - Marianne waited for an answer. Moreover, the answer that she knew in advance.

- Okay, - I say, - I'll try ... Well, listen. Pushkin is our belated Renaissance. As for Weimar - Goethe. They took upon themselves what the West learned in the 15th and 17th centuries. Pushkin found the expression of social motives in the form of tragedy characteristic of the Renaissance. He and Goethe lived, as it were, in several eras. Werther is a tribute to sentimentalism. "Prisoner of the Caucasus" is a typically Byronic piece. But "Faust", for example, is already Elizabethan. And "Little Tragedies" naturally continues one of the genres of the Renaissance. Pushkin's lyrics are the same. And if it is bitter, then not in the spirit of Byron, but in the spirit, it seems to me, of Shakespeare's sonnets ...

- What does Goethe have to do with it? Marianne asked. - And what does the Renaissance have to do with it?

- It has nothing to do with it! - I finally got mad. - Goethe has nothing to do with it! And Don Quixote's horse was called the Renaissance. Which has nothing to do with it either! And I obviously have nothing to do with it! ..

- Calm down, - whispered Marianne, - how nervous you are ... I just asked: "Why do you love Pushkin? .."

- To love in public is bestiality! I yelled. - There is a special term in sexopathology ...

With a trembling hand, she held out a glass of water to me. I pushed it aside.

- You yourself loved someone? Someday?!.

I shouldn't have said it. Now she will burst into tears and shout:

"I am thirty-four years old and I am a single girl! .."

- Pushkin is our pride! She said. - This is not only a great poet, but also a great citizen ...

Apparently, this was the deliberately prepared answer to her stupid question.

That's all, I think?

- Check out the training manual. And here is a list of books. They are available in the reading room. And report to Galina Aleksandrovna that the interview was successful ...

I felt embarrassed.

“Thank you,” I say, “I'm sorry I was intemperate.

I rolled up the training manual and put it in my pocket.

- More accurately, we have only three copies.

I pulled out the training manual and tried to smooth it out.

- You asked about love.

- No, you asked about love ... As far as I understand, you are interested in whether I am married? So, I'm married!

“You have deprived me of my last hope,” I said as I left.

In the corridor, Galina introduced me to the guide Natella. Again, an unexpected burst of interest:

- Will you work for us?

- I'll try.

- Do you have any cigarettes?

We went out onto the porch.

Natella came from Moscow, driven by romantic, or rather adventurous goals. By education - engineer-physicist, works as a school teacher. I decided to spend a three-month vacation here. She regrets that she came. There is a crush in the reserve. Guides and methodologists are crazy. Tourists are pigs and ignoramuses. Everyone loves Pushkin. And my love for Pushkin. And love for your love. The only decent person is Markov ...

- Who is Markov?

- Photographer. The consummate drunkard. I'll introduce you. He taught me to drink Agdam. This is something fantastic! He will teach you too ...

- Thank you very much. But I am afraid that in this matter I myself am a professor.

- Let's give it up somehow! Right in the bosom ...

- Agreed.

- And you are a dangerous man.

- That is?

- I felt it immediately. You are a terribly dangerous person.

- Drunk?

- I'm not talking about that.

- Did not understand.

“To fall in love with someone like you is dangerous.

And Natella almost painfully pushed me with her knee ...

Lord, I think everyone is crazy here. Even those who think everyone else is abnormal ...

“Drink Agdam,” I say, “and calm down. I want to rest and work. I am not dangerous for you ...

“We’ll see that,” Natella laughed hysterically.

Then she coquettishly waved her James Bond canvas sack and departed.

I went to Sosnovo. The road stretched to the top of the hill, skirting a bleak field. Boulders darkened in shapeless heaps around the edges. A ravine overgrown with bushes gaped to the left. Going downhill, I saw several huts surrounded by birches. Monochrome cows wandered off to the side, flat as theatrical scenery. Filthy sheep with decadent faces nibbled the grass listlessly. Jackdaws flew over the rooftops.

I walked through the village, hoping to meet someone. The unpainted gray houses looked shabby. The stakes of the rickety hedges were topped with earthen vessels. Chickens scurried about in the plastic-covered pens. Chickens acted with a nervous cartoon gait. Shaggy squat dogs barked loudly.

I crossed the village, returned. He paused near one of the houses. A door slammed, and a man in a washed-out railway tunic appeared on the porch.

I asked how to find Sorokin.

“My name is Tolik,” he said.

I introduced myself and explained once again that I needed Sorokin.

- Where does he live? - Tolik asked.

- In the village of Sosnovo.

- So this is Sosnovo.

- I know. How can I find it?

- To Timokh, or what, Sorokin?

- His name is Michal Ivanovich.

- Timokha died a year ago. I froze ...

- I should find Sorokin.

- Apparently, he gave up a little. Otherwise I would have survived ...

- I would have Sorokin ...

- Not Mishka by chance?

- His name is Michal Ivanovich.

- So this is Mishka. Dolikha is a son-in-law. Do you know Dolikha crookedly tied?

- I'm a visitor.

- Not from Opochka?

- From Leningrad.

- And, I know, I heard ...

- So how can I find Michal Ivanitch?

- Teddy bear?

- That's it.

Tolik openly and busily urinated from the porch. Then he opened the door and commanded:

- Ale! Razdolbay Ivanitch! They came to you.

- From the police, for alimony ...

Immediately a crimson face, richly decorated with blue eyes, stuck out:

- This ... Who? .. Are you talking about a gun?

- I was told you have a room for rent.

The strongest confusion was expressed on the face of Mikhal Ivanovich. Subsequently, I became convinced that this is his usual reaction to any, the most innocuous statement.

- A room? .. This is ... Why?

- I work in a nature reserve. I want to rent a room. Temporarily. Until the fall. Do you have an extra room?

- The house is Matkin. Recorded to the mother. And the uterus is in Pskov. Her legs are swollen ...

- So you don't rent a room?

- Last year the Jews lived. I won't say anything thin, cultured people ... Neither polish, nor cologne ... But only - white, red and beer ... I personally respect Jews.

“They crucified Christ,” Tolik intervened.

- So this is when it was! - shouted Mikhal Ivanovich. - It was before the revolution ...

- The room, - I say, - are you renting out or not?

- See the man, - ordered Tolik, buttoning his fly.

The three of us walked along the village street. An aunt in a men's jacket with the Order of the Red Star on the lapel stood by the fence.

- Zin, lend me a five! - shouted Mikhal Ivanovich.

The aunt dismissed:

- You will burn with wine ... Did you hear the decree came out? Hang all the drunks on a rope! ..

- Where?! - Mikhal Ivanovich laughed. - There won't be enough iron. Khan will come to all our metallurgy ...

- Here's an old bitch. You will ask me for more firewood ... I work in the forestry - a friend!

- Who? - I did not understand.

- I have a chainsaw ... "Friendship" ... Huyak - and a gold coin in my pocket.

- Friendshipist, - grumbled his aunt, - you are friends with blame ... Don't get hung up to death ...

“Difficult,” Michal Ivanovich seemed to even complain.

He was a broad-shouldered, handsome man. Even torn, dirty clothes could not really disfigure him. A brown face, thin powerful collarbones under an open shirt, an elastic, clear step ... I could not help admiring him ...

The house of Mikhal Ivanovich made a terrible impression. A lopsided antenna gleamed in the background of the clouds. The roof collapsed in places, exposing uneven dark beams. The walls were casually covered with plywood. Cracked glass - sealed with newsprint. Dirty tow was sticking out of countless cracks.

The owner's room smelled of sour food. Above the table, I saw a color portrait of Mao from Ogonyok. Nearby, Gagarin smiled broadly. Macaroni floated in a sink with black circles of chipped enamel. The walkers were standing. The iron that replaced the weight touched the floor.

Two cats of a heraldic appearance - coal-black and pinkish-white - cunningly plodded around the table, skirting around the plates. The owner shooed them with a felt felt boot that turned up. Shards clinked. The cats flew madly into a dark corner.

The next room looked even uglier. The middle of the ceiling hung menacingly. Two metal beds were heaped with rags and stinking sheepskins. Cigarette butts and eggshells were white everywhere.

To be honest, I was a little confused. To be honest: “This does not suit me ...” But obviously, I am still an intellectual. And I said something lyrical:

- Are the windows facing south?

- To the very, very south, - assented Tolik.

Outside the window, I saw a dilapidated bathhouse.

“The main thing,” I said, “is a separate entrance.

- A separate move, - agreed Mikhal Ivanovich, - only boarded up.

- Oh, - I say, - sorry.

- Ein moment, - said the owner, ran away and kicked out the door.

- How much to pay?

- Not at all.

- That is, as? - I ask.

- And like that. Bring six bottles of poison, and the square is behind you.

- Could you agree more specifically? Say, twenty rubles suits you?

The owner thought:

- How much will it be?

- I say - twenty rubles.

- And if you translate it into kir? For a ruble four?

- Nineteen bottles of Strong Pink. A pack of "Belomor". Two boxes of matches, - rapped Tolik.

- And two rubles - lifting, - Michal Ivanych specified.

I took out the money.

- Would you like to inspect the toilet?

- Then, - I say. - So you agreed? Where do you leave the key?

- There is no key, - said Mikhal Ivanovich, - lost. Don't go, we're running away.

- I have business at the camp site. Next time…

- As you know. I'll go to the camp site in the evening. We must give Lizka a podzhopnik.

- Who is this - Lizka? - I ask.

- My grandmother. I mean, a wife. She works as a hostess sister at the camp site. We went with her.

- So what are you going to beat her?

- Who? They wanted to take the gun away from me, as if I threatened to shoot her ... I thought you were about the gun ...

“I feel sorry for her patrons,” Tolik intervened.

“Don’t say,” Mikhal Ivanovich agreed, “I’ll strangle her with my hands, if necessary… In winter I meet her, then yes, in an amicable way… She shouts:“ Oh, Mishenka, I won’t, oh, let me go… ”Major Jafarov calls and is talking:

"Your last name?"

"Manda mare ..."

They gave fifteen days, without a smoke, without anything ... And what about us bullshit? .. Sitting - not working ... Lizka wrote a paper to the prosecutor, plant, they say, otherwise she will kill ... Why kill her? ..

Friends went to the microdistrict, life-loving, repulsive and warlike, like weeds ...

And I sat in the library until closing.

It took three days to prepare the excursion. Galina introduced me to the two best, from her point of view, tour guides. I walked around the reserve with them, listening and writing something down.

The reserve consisted of three memorial sites. House and estate of the Pushkins in Mikhailovsky. Trigorskoe, where the poet's friends lived and where he visited almost every day. And finally, the monastery with the family burial place of the Pushkin-Hannibals.

The excursion to Mikhailovsky consisted of several sections. The history of the estate. Second reference of the poet. Arina Rodionovna. The Pushkin family. Friends visiting the poet in exile. December performance. And - an office, with a cursory overview of Pushkin's work.

I tracked down the curator of the museum and introduced myself to her. Victoria Albertovna could have been given forty years. Long skirt with flounces, discolored curls, intaglio, umbrella - Benoit's pretentious picture. This style of the dying provincial nobility was clearly and deliberately cultivated here. Each of the local scientists had a characteristic feature of it. Someone was pulling a gypsy shawl of a fantastic size on his chest. Someone had an exquisite straw hat dangling over their shoulders. Someone got a ridiculous fan of feathers.

Victoria Albertovna talked with me, smiling incredulously. I have already started to get used to this. All the ministers of the Pushkin cult were surprisingly jealous. Pushkin was their collective property, their adored lover, their dearly cherished offspring. Any encroachment on this personal shrine irritated them. They were in a hurry to be convinced of my ignorance, cynicism and greed.

- Why did you come? The keeper asked.

- For a long ruble, - I say.

Victoria Albertovna almost fainted.

- Sorry, I was joking.

- Jokes are absolutely inappropriate here.

- Agree. May I ask one question? Which exhibits of the museum are genuine?

- Is it important?

- I think so. After all, a museum is not a theater.

“Everything here is genuine. The river, hills, trees are Pushkin's peers. His interlocutors and friends. All the amazing nature of these places ...

- Speech about the museum exhibits, - I interrupted, - most of them are commented on in the training manual evasively:

"Dishes found on the estate ..."

- What exactly are you interested in? What would you like to see?

- Well, personal belongings ... If any ...

- To whom do you address your claims?

- But what claims can there be ?! And even more so - to you! I just asked ...

- Personal belongings of Pushkin? .. The museum was created decades after his death ...

- So, - I say, - it always works. First, they will kill a person, and then they begin to search for his personal belongings. So it was with Dostoevsky, with Yesenin ... So it will be with Pasternak. When they come to their senses, they will start looking for Solzhenitsyn's personal belongings ...

“But we are recreating the color, the atmosphere,” said the keeper.

- Clear. Is the bookcase real?

- At least - of that era.

- And the portrait of Byron?

- Real, - Victoria Albertovna was delighted, - presented to Wulfs ... There is an inscription ... What you are, however, fastidious. Personal belongings, personal belongings ... But in my opinion, this is an unhealthy interest ...

I felt like a robber caught in someone else's apartment.

- What, - I say, - without this museum? Without an unhealthy interest? There is only healthy interest in ham ...

- Is nature not enough for you? Is it not enough for you that he roamed these slopes? Swam in this river. I admired this marvelous panorama ...

Well, what, I think, am I sticking to her?

- I see, - I say, - thank you, Vika.

Suddenly she bent down. I plucked some kind of cereal. She slapped me in the face. She gave a short, nervous laugh and walked away, lifting up her flounced maxi skirt.

I joined the group heading to Trigorskoye.

The keepers of the estate - a married couple - I suddenly liked it. Once married, they could afford the luxury of being kind. Polina Fyodorovna seemed domineering, energetic and a little self-confident. Kolya looked like an embarrassed bumpkin and kept in the background.

Trigorskoye lay on the outskirts. The authorities rarely dropped in here. The exposition was built in a logical and beautiful way. Young Pushkin, lovely young ladies in love, the atmosphere of elegant summer flirting ...

I walked around the park. Then he went down to the river. The overturned trees were green in it. Light clouds floated by.

I wanted to bathe, but then a regular bus came up.

I went to the Svyatogorsk monastery. The old women were selling flowers at the gate. I bought some tulips and went up to the grave. Tourists were taking pictures at the fence. Their smiling faces struck me as disgusting. Two losers with easels settled down next to them.

I put the flowers down and left. I should have seen the exposition of the Assumption Cathedral. An echo sounded in the cool stone niches. Doves dozed under the arches. The temple was real, squat and graceful. A broken bell gleamed dimly in the corner of the central hall. One of the tourists loudly knocked on it with a key ...

In the south aisle, I saw the famous drawing of Bruni. Here the death mask gleamed. Two huge paintings reproduced the secret removal and funeral. Alexander Turgenev looked like a lady ...

A group of tourists came up. I headed for the exit. Following came:

- The history of culture does not know an event equal in tragedy ... Autocracy by the hand of the high society Skoda ...

So, I settled down with Michal Ivanitch. He drank incessantly. To amazement, paralysis and delirium. Moreover, he raved exclusively with obscenities. And he swore with the same feeling with which older intelligent people hum in an undertone. That is, for yourself, without relying on approval or protest.

Sergey Dovlatov

Reserve

To my wife who was right

Sergey Dovlatov

Reserve

At twelve they arrived at Luga. We stopped at the station square. The girl-tour guide changed her lofty tone to a more earthy one:

There is one place to the left ...

My neighbor raised himself with interest:

You mean a restroom?

All the way he harassed me: "A six-letter bleaching agent? .. An endangered artiodactyl? .. An Austrian skier? .."

Tourists came out to the light-flooded square. The driver slammed the door and squatted at the radiator.

The train station ... A dirty yellow building with columns, a clock, shimmering neon letters discolored by the sun ...

I crossed the lobby with a newsstand and massive cement bins. Intuitively revealed the buffet.

Through the waiter, ”the barmaid said listlessly. A corkscrew dangled from her shallow chest.

I sat down by the door. A minute later a waiter appeared with huge felt sideburns.

What do you want?

I want, - I say, - that everyone should be benevolent, modest and kind.

The waiter, fed up with the variety of life, was silent.

I would like one hundred grams of vodka, beer and two sandwiches.

With sausage, probably ...

I took out cigarettes and lit a cigarette. Hands trembled hideously. “I wouldn’t drop the glass…” And then two intelligent old women sat down next to them. Like from our bus.

The waiter brought a decanter, a bottle and two sweets.

The sandwiches are over, ”he said with false tragedy.

I paid. He raised and immediately lowered the glass. Hands were shaking like an epileptic. The old women looked at me with disgust. I tried to smile:

Look at me with love!

The old women shuddered and sat down. I heard vague critical interjections.

To hell with them, I think. He grabbed the glass with both hands and drank it. Then he unrolled the candy with a rustle.

It got a little easier. A deceptive enthusiasm was born. I put a bottle of beer in my pocket. Then he got up, nearly knocking over a chair. Rather, a duralumin chair. The old women continued to look at me in fright.

I went out to the square. The fence of the square was covered with warped plywood boards. The diagrams promised mountains of meat, wool, eggs and other intimacy in the near future.

The men were smoking near the bus. The women sat down noisily. The girl guide was eating ice cream in the shade. I took a step towards her:

Let's get acquainted.

Aurora, ”she said, holding out her sticky hand.

And I, - I say, - the tanker Derbent.

The girl was not offended.

Everyone laughs at my name. I'm used to ... What's the matter with you? You are red!

I assure you, this is only on the outside. Inside I am a constitutional democrat.

No, is it really bad for you?

I drink a lot ... Do you want beer?

Why are you drinking? she asked.

What could I answer?

This is a secret, - I say, - a little secret ...

Have you decided to work in the reserve?

That's it.

I knew right away.

Do I look like a philologist?

Mitrofanov accompanied you. An extremely erudite Pushkin scholar. Do you know him well?

Well, - I say, - from the bad side ...

Like this?

Do not attach importance.

Read Gordin, Shchegoleva, Tsyavlovskaya ... Kern's memoirs ... And some popular brochure about the dangers of alcohol.

You know, I've read so much about the dangers of alcohol! I decided to quit forever ... read.

It's impossible to talk to you ...

The driver looked in our direction. The sightseers sat down.

Aurora finished her ice cream and wiped her fingers.

In the summer, she said, they pay pretty well in the reserve. Mitrofanov earns about two hundred rubles.

And this is two hundred rubles more than it costs.

And you are also evil!

You will be angry, - I say.

The driver honked twice.

Let's go, ”said Aurora.

The Lviv bus was cramped. The calico seats are hot. The yellow curtains intensified the feeling of stuffiness.

I leafed through the "Diaries" of Alexei Wolfe. They talked about Pushkin in a friendly, sometimes condescending manner. Here it is, closeness, detrimental to sight. It is clear to everyone that geniuses must have acquaintances. But who will believe that his acquaintance is a genius ?!

I dozed off. Some superfluous information about Ryleev's mother came vaguely ...

They woke me up already in Pskov. The newly plastered walls of the Kremlin were depressing. Above the central arch, the designers reinforced an ugly, Baltic-looking, forged emblem. The Kremlin resembled an enormous model.

In one of the outbuildings there was a local travel agency. Aurora certified some papers, and we were taken to Geru, the most fashionable local restaurant.

I hesitated - add or not add? Add - tomorrow it will be really bad. I didn't want to eat ...

I went out onto the boulevard. Linden trees rustled deeply and heavily.

I was convinced for a long time: if you think about it, you immediately remember something sad. For example, the last conversation with my wife ...

Even your love for words, crazy, unhealthy, pathological love, is false. This is just an attempt to justify the life that you lead. And you lead the lifestyle of a famous writer, without having the most minimal prerequisites for this ... With your vices, you need to be at least Hemingway ...

Do you really think he is a good writer? Maybe Jack London is a good writer too?

My God! What does Jack London have to do with it ?! I have the only boots in the pawnshop ... I can forgive everything. And poverty does not scare me ... Everything, except betrayal!

What do you mean?

Your eternal drunkenness. Yours ... I don't even want to say ... You can't be an artist at the expense of another person ... This is mean! You talk so much about nobility! And he himself is a cold, cruel, resourceful person ...

Don't forget that I've been writing stories for twenty years.

Do you want to write a great book? One out of hundreds of millions succeeds!

So what? Spiritually, such a failed attempt equals the greatest book ever. If you want, she is morally even higher. Since it excludes remuneration ...

These are words. Endless beautiful words ... I'm tired of ... I have a child for whom I am responsible ...

I also have a child.

That you ignore for months We are strangers for you ...

(There is one painful moment in a conversation with a woman. You bring facts, arguments, arguments. You appeal to logic and common sense. And suddenly you discover that she is disgusted with the very sound of your voice ...)

Deliberately, - I say, - I did not do evil ...

I sat down on a gentle bench. He took out a pen and notebook. A minute later I wrote down:

My poems were somewhat ahead of reality. It was about a hundred kilometers to the Pushkinskie Gory.

I went to the hardware store. I got an envelope with a picture of Magellan. I asked for some reason:

Do you know what Magellan has to do with it?

The seller thoughtfully replied:

Maybe he died ... Or they gave a hero ...

I put a stamp, sealed it, put it down ...

At six we drove up to the building of the tourist base. Before that there were hills, a river, a wide horizon with an uneven forest edge. In general, the Russian landscape is no frills. Those everyday signs of him that cause an inexplicably bitter feeling.

This feeling has always struck me as suspicious. In general, the passion for inanimate objects annoys me ... (I mentally opened my notebook.) There is something flawed in numismatists, philatelists, avid travelers, lovers of cacti and aquarium fish. I am alien to the sleepy longsuffering of a fisherman, the fruitless unmotivated courage of the climber, the proud confidence of the owner of the royal poodle ...

They say Jews are indifferent to nature. This is one of the reproaches against the Jewish nation. Jews do not have their own nature, but they are indifferent to someone else's. Well, maybe so. Obviously, there is an admixture of Jewish blood in me ...

In short, I do not like enthusiastic contemplators. And I don't really trust their enthusiasm. I think love for birches triumphs at the expense of love for a person. And it develops as a surrogate for patriotism ...

I agree, you regret and love a sick, paralyzed mother more sharply. However, admiring her sufferings, expressing them aesthetically is meanness ...

We drove up to the tourist base. Some idiot built it four kilometers from the nearest body of water. The ponds, lakes, the famous river, and the base is in the sun. True, there are rooms with showers ... Occasionally - hot water ...

We go to the tour desk. There is such a lady, the dream of a retirement. Aurora handed her a waybill. She signed, received dinner stamps for the group. She whispered something to this curvy blonde who immediately looked at me. The look contained unyielding, fluent interest, business concern, and mild anxiety. She even straightened up somehow. The papers rustled more sharply.

Sergei Dovlatov's story "Reserve" is considered one of his best works, although it became known only after his death. In it, the writer tells about life in Soviet times, in the second half of the 20th century. And although for many this time is not familiar, while reading the book, it will not be difficult to imagine everything that happened.

The main character is an unrecognized writer. His works are not published, but at the same time he considers writing to be his vocation. Boris's life is not going well, his relationship with his wife leaves much to be desired, he often drinks.

To somehow pull himself together, Boris gets a job at the A.S. Pushkin to Mikhailovskoe. He even stops drinking and finds a more or less stable position. At the same time, he notices how deaf and blind people are who remain indifferent to the beauty of art, even museum workers. At that time, this place was quite popular, people often came there to relax. But all they needed was rest, fresh air and just the thought that they were in an art reserve. But in their souls there was no admiration, they did not even know quotes from the works of the great writer. Boris is upset by this attitude, but at the same time, he compares the reserve with his own life.

In the book, the writer tells about the life of a person who cannot feel solid ground under his feet, he is depressed and does not want to do anything to become happier. Perhaps he was blind and did not see the chances that life presented to him. It was easier for Boris to go with the flow and find excuses for everything that was happening than to take responsibility and make an important decision. He knew it himself. And the writer in his story, without embellishment, reflected the life of the average person of that time. It is amazing his ability to write with a share of humor about what is really sad.

The work belongs to the genre Literature of the Russian Diaspora. It was published in 1983 by the Azbuka publishing house. The book is part of the "Collected Works. Dovlatov" series. On our website you can download the book "Reserve" in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format or read online. The rating of the book is 4.32 out of 5. Here you can also refer to the reviews of readers who are already familiar with the book and find out their opinions before reading. In the online store of our partner, you can buy and read a book in paper form.

(estimates: 1 , the average: 4,00 out of 5)

Name: Reserve

About the book "Reserve" Sergei Dovlatov

Connoisseurs of classical Russian literature, of course, are familiar with such an author as Sergei Dovlatov. He has a lot of interesting and deep things, one of which is undoubtedly the "Reserve". This is a book that can be completely disassembled into quotes. It is so bright and sincere that you will want to re-read it over and over again. In his favorite soulful manner, the author reveals the originality of the Russian soul, helps readers to imbue with the thoughts and feelings of the protagonist. If you start reading the story, be prepared for vivid emotions. But at the same time, you can be sure that you will be fascinated by her.

It is interesting that Dovlatov wrote "Zapovednik" for several years. He began working on the book in 1977, and it was not published until 1983. At that time, Sergei Dovlatov lived and worked in New York. However, this did not prevent him from publishing a story ideally suited to the peculiarities of the Russian mentality. Moreover, the prototype of the protagonist, according to most experts, is the author himself. True, there is a version according to which the hero is copied from Joseph Brodsky. And how things are in reality, you can understand if you start reading this story.

It cannot be said that Zapovednik has a dynamic plot, but it is undoubtedly original. The main character of the story is Boris Alikhanov, who is called Bob. The author tells how this Leningrad intellectual gets a job at the Pushkin Museum, located in the Pskov Region (Mikhailovskoye), and becomes a tour guide. Moreover, Sergei Dovlatov offers readers a very interesting look at the attitude of a Russian person to culture, social aspects of life, etc. His book is a kind of "cocktail" of original "table conversations", Pushkin's lyrics, unique Russian traditions. This is such a multifaceted work that, as you read it, be prepared to be amazed.

Interestingly, the "Zapovednik" is quite easy to understand. The author does not pretend to reveal any truths of life, but presents them to the reader in a simple and unobtrusive form. The text is literally saturated with subtle humor, irony, but it does not look pretentious. The story is very harmonious and therefore quickly captivates readers. This is one of those works that you want to read and reread, and in which you will find something new for yourself over and over again.

On our site about books, you can download the site for free without registration or read the online book "Reserve" by Sergey Dovlatov in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, find out the biography of your favorite authors. For novice writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and tricks, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary skill.

Quotes from the book "Reserve" Sergei Dovlatov

In a foreign language, we lose eighty percent of our identity. We lose the ability to joke, to be ironic. This alone terrifies me.

I was convinced for a long time: if you think about it, you immediately remember something sad.

You know, I've read so much about the dangers of alcohol! I decided to quit forever ... read.

But where is the love? Where is jealousy and insomnia? Where is the flood of feelings? Where are the unsent letters with blurry ink? Where is the fainting at the sight of a tiny foot? Where are the cupids, cupids and other extras of this exciting show? Where, finally, is a bouquet of flowers for a ruble thirty ?!

First, they will kill a person, and then they begin to search for his personal belongings. So it was with Dostoevsky, with Yesenin ... So it will be with Pasternak. When they come to their senses, they will start looking for Solzhenitsyn's personal belongings ...

You don't get paid - that's bad. Money is freedom, space, whims ... Having money, it is so easy to endure poverty ...

- You know, I've read so much about the dangers of alcohol! I decided to quit forever ... read.

There is one painful moment in a conversation with a woman. You give facts, arguments, arguments. You appeal to logic and common sense. And suddenly you discover that the very sound of your voice is disgusting to her ...

Once married, they could afford the luxury of being kind.

(There is one painful moment in a conversation with a woman. You bring facts, arguments, arguments. You appeal to logic and common sense. And suddenly you discover that she is disgusted with the very sound of your voice ...)

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