And began my acquaintance with Oleg normal and even nice, really. For a couple of years before this whole parsley, about which story I sailed along the eastern shore of the Caspian Sea. Started in Shevchenko, or whatever it is now renamed the Kazakhs. Arrived there, and my shvertbotik by rail is not yet come. The hotel places, natural, and never will be — Kazakh-manageress swore "on the bread," that all occupied. Bread and there was not even there, but due to that fat bitch — it must be a jerk.
Had to sleep on the beach under a bush, just do not eat mosquitoes and sand flies are worse. Hardly the sun rose, I walked along the shore, angry, sleepy and bitten. Looking, good-sized catamaran buried in the sand, on board Kucheryavykh, kind of like a Slavonic script, written down the name — "The Golden Cockerel." One float this cock buckled on parole holds, and the tower in the form of a few snakes. So, I think you're all clear. Did the recent squeezed shtormyaga.
Near boathouses. Gone. In a dark corner on the ragged couch sat sad guys and refreshing white wine. I also treated when they learned that I was and how much. They're all working at a nuclear power, and were sailing ground nuts like me. Recently, it is slightly out of luck. I porasskazat them something about how and where I also varied unlucky. They revive. talking and generally very helpful. Shelter and even map the coast gave, for official use, chipboard, then. Priceless thing. Then all the cards, except those with wild distortions to deceive fools imperialist aggressor and generalists, were secret, and for possession of DSP could shlopotat couple of years, and without a map in the sea is not released. Standard Soviet catch-22. Just me, no one did not ask permission, but as it was my shvertbotik, repaired it with the guys pulled up and threw a carrot sail to the south, but it is quite another story. Maybe somehow tell. By the way, there is a story to tell, believe me.
Oleg, a fair-haired little man shabby either from Omsk, whether from Tomsk, but overbearing manners and a quiet voice, a power, a kind of engineer-party organizer, was with them in charge. The map was actually him, and he commanded the children to help me with the repair dinghy — at the train. on its order pomordovali. So I was grateful to him wildly and somehow invited to pay a visit to Moscow, and it is better to fly along the southern shore of the Aral Sea hunt. I have a year before was there hunting estate Toguz tere and autumn hunting in Kamyshin kingdom shaken me. Aral through almost the whole of the south of Russia on a bird rushing, there all round the desert, and the sea can not be avoided — the birds rest and feed up, then, behold. At the hunting ground every overbearing trash flying blood polish, astronauts, secretaries of the CC, the director of the trusts and the rest of the public is not like me, docent-single. I regretted very much later that so famously about all this gushing Oleg.
Oleg in the same winter in Moscow I churchyard, with grim pimply adolescent daughters. I told them the whole cultural program provided, theaters, museums and more. And like all normalnenko was a little tedious, but to get away, guests have guests hell would not take them. The following year, retired and came here in the reeds, and then it all started.
It began, in fact, even at the airport in Nukus. I arrived first, and there met him. Look, he comes down the stairs, and with it his Zhinkov Nina, too blond and too shabby, a saucy wench profdeyatelya small type, always disheveled, with a cigarette in his mouth, and the impression that the long-unwashed.
To be honest, I did back then in Shevchenko disliked. Epizodik was such a small thing, but I was scarred. We sat around, drank little by little, and I habitually bent something about Soviet power, like in their intellectual company, and that way she graciously corrected me — will not, they say, to forget that the Soviet government has given us everything. I have a feeling — as suddenly fell into a hole, you moron treplivy. A fool not to explain that this power is given to whom, and that those who have deprived. So it is possible to knock on the KGB dotrepatsya with known consequences. I mentally matyuknul myself for a long tongue and shut up.
But I have not actually so chill, as it saw on the ladder, but just do it there was absolutely nothing. Hunting in the Aral Sea — a serious matter, cold and dirty, for large ohotomanov. Again, not great joy to blyuyuschih colleagues admire, and yet can not do without it. In general, there is work to wash, and it can be seen, the apartment with sauna dreamed of my stories, so she linked. However, I blame myself, not ruffled if to astronauts, who here luxuriously take, it is unlikely these morons here would priperlis.
Well, somehow I pictured joy, and now the blow. Oleg came down the stairs, waving a light bag, and a bottle of her "bitch", and it turned out it was all their luggage. Well, that is absolutely all — no equipment, no eat about, well, nothing. Zero. Not sure if Ninka pants were interchangeable. They are so evidently decided that if I invite, they are entirely for free. Well, as it was in Moscow. And they do not care that I myself am the director of guest services, and two people with a pull, with one bottle for two or three weeks — there is no Asian hospitality will not stand. And I knew that the price of hospitality, and therefore drove to Victor Director gift telescope twenty-fold increase. This audience loves such things. Okay, I think, for the first time will be enough, some grub, I have with me, a tent is, the cartridges are — break through somehow.