Chapter 1 -1
PART 1
Prologue
To this day, I often recall the doll in her pink dress, sitting on my lap while I was strapped into my stroller, and that low rumble of an approaching train.
Where living, on clear nights, the city lights are visible.
The street, winding, runs down to the Esentai River, where on weekends people usually gather to stroll through the park and enjoy its fairytale atmosphere and the meltwater flowing down from the snowy mountains.
Visible from the window are large gates painted green, feeling like a prison. Knowing that the reason lies within ourselves and at any moment one could simply pick up and leave.
But still, often standing by the window, as if hoping by contemplation to overcome internal barriers on the path to a life fully wide-open.
Specifically for the sake of art, bought a second-hand armchair and a matching footstool. The armchair is massive, cozy, upholstered in dark brown velvet. Honestly, completely not in my taste. It stands by a wide window, and turning it so that the light falls directly on the model’s chest. Today, it is my brother Sanzhar.
Sometimes turning on some music, usually choosing something old and calm.
Sanzhar, silently wrapped in snow-white sheets tightened by a leather belt, sits and glances at me, pretending to be a very serious Roman. He is eighteen, but he always tries to look much older.
— Don’t make me laugh, just keep a simpler look! — hoping that the brother would just relax and become himself.
But Sanzhar only grumbled back at me:
— It’s good enough, stop making fun of me!
Sometimes he becomes such a bore that there is just a desire to get up and leave, but not today, for this painting must go to the exhibition, and there is no longer time to find another model.
— Understood, understood, not meddling in your life, Your Highness! — joked, just to smooth over the little conflict.
Having finished the preparations and laid everything in its place, getting to work. Took a simple pencil and began to sketch.
In student days, we all posed for each other, and since then vividly remember what a torment it is — to sit without stirring under someone’s relentless gaze.
From the rustle of the pencil running across the paper, tiny hairs on the skin stand on end, as if the pencil is not a pencil at all, but a hand they are moving along the body half an inch from the surface.
Generally, to put it this way: the world has many illusions.
Sometimes the Muse in my soul falls silent. And then taking care of the garden, pruning trees, canning vegetables and fruits. But doing all this, not feeling that I am living.
On the hardest days, me draws to the park with a pool and a beautiful gazebo nearby. Terrifyingly wanting to go down to the water and go to the very bottom, but at the last moment, deciding to give myself one more chance at salvation, and dragging home.
Maybe this craving is linked to a psychological childhood trauma?
When me was two years old, father seduced a recently hired young nanny, then simply forgot about her existence, and she decided to take revenge on him by rolling the stroller with me onto the railroad tracks. Fortunately, some local old man saw me and rushed to help at the last moment.
CHAPTER 1
Friendship is a huge joy that one must grow like a fragile and delicate flower. ‘Water’ it with thoughts of a friend, ‘fertilize’ it with worthy deeds.
And always remember that losing a real friend is easy, but finding a new one is insanely difficult.
Yuri Malygin, my childhood friend and a lawyer—although as a child he was a bit withdrawn and seemed as if not of this world, now he could easily hook up with some girl of easy virtue and spend the whole day with her, and then also book a hotel room or drag her to his place.
He treated his work lightheartedly, sometimes he was late or did not appear in the office at all, referring to some important business.
Once Yura told me that his priority was freedom and personal life, and money, it’s just a tool, like a shovel for a garden.
True, there were moments when he went against what was said, and could sit at his desk rummaging through folders with documents until the very night.
When with me there were a couple of free hours, dropped by his office to have a cup of quickly soluble coffee with caramel over idle talk.
—You know! – Yura started this time, – a friend is supposed to come to me here, an old one, so to speak. We studied together at the institute, Alexander Pikalov, ‘Pika’, that’s what I usually call him. - He took out a couple of mugs and clicked the electric kettle.
Settling into one of the office chairs that stood near the lettuce-green wall, asked. — Interesting, and from where does he come?
— In my opinion, from Voronezh… Yes, from Voronezh. — He mused.
Remembered that just recently Yura told me about his friend, he said that Alexander somehow saved him from prison.
Then to my friend turned one rather pretty person with a female pensioner to obtain a power of attorney for the property belonging to the old woman. The girl assured that the old woman was lonely and seriously ill and that the only guardian was she.
Yura, believing the words of the fraudster, quickly issued the power of attorney without even making sure that the certificates were fake. And they left.
True, soon the relatives of the lonely female pensioner appeared, who immediately wrote statements to the police. The fraudster was put in jail.
Yura was also facing prison time, but thanks to Alexander and his connections, the young man came out practically dry from the water, having lost his lawyer’s license for a year.
— Is this that same friend who saved you from prison?
Yes. I would like to introduce you to him? You’ll see, you will like him! ‘I want to invite him here tomorrow for a cup of coffee,’ — he said. And I answered:
— Of course.
The next day, closer to twelve was already in the office. We ordered a couple of pizzas, sushi and cola.
Yura quickly cleared everything extra from his desk.
This time the courier brought the food much earlier than the promised time, and I rushed outside to meet him and pick up the order.
