What was in the reeds. Chapter 15

The night was one of those that I remember all my life, though rather monotonous. I burned a fire, slept, recovering from shaking, then again burning fire pridremyvaya and shivering. Rushes twist into tight braids, so they burn longer and produce more heat. Once the wild fatigue was quite asleep, and took up my bed, but got up in time. Only boots slightly singed.

No special thoughts were not, and those that flashed were some stubby and straight, without convolutions and branches. Like, how do I have enough, and how to take water from a duck but in the early days to shoot, and not have festered wound canister — it still hurts. But hurt so much and in so many places that the thought about the wound does not stick out.

Even about the scum Oleg just think that, really, you bastard, but somehow without much fervor thought. Far all went away, as if in the back of binoculars stonony look, and much differently seen. Here is a couple, for example. They're not evil, but just a very unhappy people. I wanted them with the public to meet the high parse yes to sharmaka delay, but here such a bummer. But real people shoot — it is certainly unnecessary. For this can be on the ass a-na-na shlopotat.

However, do not be on the ass. Just stay away from them. Himself to blame, he made this friendship. Forever fellows on your perfect Saltyk mete — and fly in full view. Nobody is forcing them to kiss … Ah, now it would be good to kiss, passionately, in the style of Hollywood, only with some such virgins, so that was big and hot, like a Russian stove. Painfully trembling exasperated. The breeze blowing from the sea is not strong, but unremittingly vile.

Somewhere nearby howled and cried, laughed jackal, and I muttered Come on, bro, howling, you cowardly creatures, and I'm not better than you. I would have screamed, but no strength, I'm sorry … However, this is nothing I like that. At least I do not crapped where eat it and tries svolota devour all potentially edible that leave, say, in a boat, and in the same pile pile. I certainly knew of these habits. Such is the Jackals ethics — he borrowed your good and even make fun of you, though. However, that is what I snapped on the jackals. Shit-it shits, and shoot real people — no, no.

I turned another reed bundle zadpalil and sat there, pecking nose and sifting in my head all drebedn. It is good that a wife with him to this time brought. It would be in the camp all isperezhivalas, though without tears. Crying her little work. But really upset when I disappear. In the Black Sea, I somehow raznyryalsya, played with a ramp. I was two hours, so it all the people on the bank raised. Well, there is a far-sighted man was found, said to her: "Yes, he won, fins flash! Dived again! "And what she sees with her then-vision glasses. No worries, that's for sure. But love? Does not? To the heart kiss? To hell send? Ten years, this daisy all stretches and stretches, and no heart you clarity.

Okay. Udumala too, than his head to score. It's about time. This is all comédie humaine, and we've got drama, just like Jack London. "Love of Life" is called. Interestingly, in order to drive a man from a famous story in the reeds, as if he understood them. If claustrophobia, he would have long serdchishko snapped. I myself have this slack, but it seems that's managed. But do not give a f God again this Guschin climb. But it is necessary, if the sea becomes deeper. Say, to the waist. Then far the water will not leave. Well, there is nothing before the time to scare yourself. How rude jokes, our people, our uzho puzhat not necessary, we uzho puzhatye …

In the sky, there was a high, uneven singing, and somewhere above his head, invisible in the darkness, was a flock of teal. These little devils — like jet fighters over Red Square: second, and they really knows where. But behind them stirred, buzzing the sky, began this morning crazy years, which can not be used to.

I forgot about the tremor, moved to the edge of the island, replaced grapeshot ammunition in the store at five, got on his knees, bent down to the ground and lay still, looking up from under his brows. But it was not my day again. Sea duck was high and fast, and the local flashed just over the reeds, they shoot — only jackals feed. In desperation I shot a couple of times that were flying over the sea, and appeared from reeds lower than the rest. But it just seemed to me that below — after the shot they just shied away, and no bastard fell. I have already rolled out the tears from his eyes, his lips mumbling something incoherent in obscene manner.

Years have ended, when out of the darkness low over the reeds came down on me two huge shadows, and I breathed in the heat — Geese! They also will not take five! But the eyes and hands have done all that is necessary, doublet — and both birds hard plopped into the water behind me. With a quiet triumphant shriek, I rushed to the discolored water in the carcass, grabbed them by the neck, dragged drew in the sand — and slowly sank to the hind legs, could not believe his eyes. They were not any geese, and the most that neither is shags. I touched their feathers, no one knows why. And that touch them. Cormorant, even in Africa cormorant. Once I was in the Caspian Sea in a very sour situation like this and tried one of the cooking. Cooked for four hours, but nothing more than a terrible, a gas fish stench came out of this, and we had to throw.

I spat on his would-be prey and walked to the den — to fill up. Burrowed into the reeds, put his fist under his cheek. I wanted to smile half-smile of the Buddha, but damn did not. You forgive me, Gautam your mother …

Yes, brother, see something you angered the Upper Big Men, once you fall all the way here are the stink bombs. And then say, matter at every step, although it could have done without this folklore, intellectual hezany. Bad habit. Kind of like picking your nose. While there, mate — a small thing, here it is necessary to look deeper. Wrong live, that's what. I was torn by desire, sperm from the ears beats, hence adultery and other dishonest business. Divorce. Booze dreary months. Selfishness again. Vanity ambitious. Good thing of writing my sack, and that b is a bastard and a henchman was … However, not sure. Conscience would be tortured. Coming soon have died of fever, or in the camp. Camp, I would not have survived. Of freedom would be seized.

But then I got bored spread these snot, especially someone tailed climbed the fence and began to pose shameless faces: Yeah, you're still a diary manager, write down what you are vile, disgusting Tolstoy. Do not tell people. All the same, there is no God killed God. So let's go to sleep …

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