The window to the street was located opposite the front door. To the right of the entrance is her bed, always neatly made, an iron bed with knobs on the headboard, apparently leftover from the previous owners. Almost the entire left wall was occupied by an old rude stove that had not been heated for a long time, the house had had central heating for a long time, there was simply no one to clean it.

Opposite the window, to the left of the door, under the curtain, her things hung on nails driven into the wall. . Chair. She had nothing else. Although no, in the kitchen, shared with another family who occupied the next room in the same basement, she had a table, some dishes and one burner on a gas stove.

The window, under which there was a desk, rose a meter above the surface of the street asphalt, and through it one could see legs walking to the right and left, and behind them the wheels of passing cars.

She sat with her elbows on the table, her hands under her chin, and looked at the street, at the walking shoes, boots, sneakers... Sometimes handbags with a long strap, or loaded large bags hung along the women's legs.

.

. One end of the leather strap was torn; she nailed the other end to the edge of the table so as not to have to look for it. Previously, this watch always fell somewhere, although in her small room there was, in general, nowhere to fall.

The weather was wonderful this morning. The sun was shining as never before, joyful, elegant, as if it was some kind of holiday today.

She will leave the house around three o'clock. At exactly three o'clock on Fridays, the manager of a nearby supermarket takes out carts with expired products, and the local bastard sorts out these products for nothing. Just she can’t be late, her younger, quicker fellow citizens will push her away and won’t let her choose what she wants, but she always wants meat and sweets. There will be canned meat and cakes that can no longer be sold. She lacks proteins and glucose, which is why she craves meat and sweets. She understood this. The main thing is not to be late and have time to grab yours.

Children's feet in rubber sneakers ran briskly past the window. The girl she remembered was jumping in these sneakers back then. I was sitting like this, looking habitually out the window, and suddenly something thin black flashed, flicker, flicker. Jump rope, she guessed. Then these thin girls' legs appeared in pink tights and green sneakers. Jump, jump, jump, jump, flicker, flicker. The girl jumped, and her legs seemed to her like two pink defenseless worms.

A rustling sound was heard from the left. She looked around, a piece of plaster fell off the stove and crawled down. The neighbors are doing something there, behind the wall, maybe they are driving in nails, hanging a reproduction, or maybe they are already preparing to break through the wall? She had no doubt that as soon as she died, the neighbors would immediately, without waiting for formalities, break through the wall into her room in order to seize her before the housing office laid its hands on her. And that’s right, there’s a young family with two children, they’re cramped, let them take them. She won't need it anyway.

And on the right through the entrance, a basement like this one was converted into a garage by a reputable company that occupied the second floor. . And so the neighbors will be able to move into normal housing. Why not, it will be good and right.

I wonder where this girl in pink tights lives, what kind of family she has? What grade of school does he go to Maybe I’ll meet her on the street someday, apparently she lives nearby. How will she recognize her if her wormy legs are dressed in different tights or jeans No, he won't know. But it’s so nice to remember these jump-jump, flicker, flicker... Exactly twelve.

. The psychologist asked her to remember the happiest day of her life and write it down on paper.. She took the pen and thought. Which day was the happiest Maybe then in the Fann Mountains, when they were traveling together, not yet saying a word about the wedding, but both knew for sure that they could not live without each other. They took a taxi to the end of the asphalt road, then the guide led them on foot. .

The guide took them to a local landmark, a high-mountain teahouse that served fresh trout, freshly caught in the river.. . While waiting for the waiter to bring their order, they walked up the creek. The water in the stream was so clear that it didn’t seem to be there. As if a light, weightless shine was flowing from above. She squatted down and touched the water with her hand to make sure there was water.. My hand burned with cold, but small fountains began to bubble around my fingers.. Here the same trout swam, quickly wagging its tail, from pebble to pebble, swam up to her hand, poked her with soft lips. Then they went even higher and admired an eagle circling between the mountain peaks, with white feathers at the ends of its wings. He hugged her, and so they stood, pressed close, eyes closed, cheeks touching. A guide came out onto the path and called them to the table, but she could not eat this fried golden fish lying on the plate in front of her. . He understood, smiled softly, whispered words of love in her ear..

Yes it was a very happy day.

Or maybe this one? After the wedding they flew to Thailand, he booked an expensive room. The hotel is all marble. A huge bed with towel swans laid on it, as is customary in expensive hotels. On the floor there was some kind of unusual carpet with a long, long pile, in which the feet were buried up to the ankles, and on top the maid had scattered petals of some fragrant flowers. Having undressed, she ran along the carpet, raking up the petals with her feet, then threw herself on the floor, rolled from side to side, wriggled, laughing, with her whole flexible young body, feeling how the white petals caressed her skin, absorbing the exotic, sugary aroma. Looks like an orchid or something. He laughed, looking at her tricks, then grabbed her with both hands and dragged her onto the bed... The next night a funny incident happened. She, turning over on her back in a love fight, touched the panic button on the bedside table with her foot. A minute and a half later, the door was opened with their own key, and three guards appeared on the threshold, fully armed. Frozen, looking in bewilderment at the frolicking couple. . Then they remembered for a long time, laughing, the faces of the guards.

No, that first episode was more important. When he realized why she couldn't eat the fried trout. That's more important.

And there was another happy day when she received a test at the hospital, confirming that the small lump in her left breast was functional.. It will resolve on its own, she doesn’t have any cancer. They then danced and sang to celebrate under the gates of the cancer clinic, they were both happy. But still, that day in the Fann Mountains was more important when she realized that he felt the same as she did.

Maybe today pink dancing worms will appear in the window, she will go out and meet this girl.

.

. No, there was nothing good in childhood. Her parents, archaeologists, left for a long time for work, left her with a housekeeper, who was given money - her salary, for food for the child, and for school lunches every day, but the housekeeper was indifferent to her, and often went to school hungry. The employee did not give her any money in her hands. Parents, when returning, never asked the employee for a report, but asked their daughter how she spent her time without them. And she never complained to her parents. They didn't ask, but she was silent. No, there was nothing good in such a childhood. There was just an expectation of something better that would come later, it was, yes.

Rather, she found happiness in independence when she started her own business. Not happiness, but peace of mind, hope for future stability, that’s what you can call it. Probably, the expectation of happiness is much more important than happiness itself, which, having arrived, is already felt as a matter of course..

It’s good that she has nothing to reproach herself for, her conscience. Unless for that denunciation. Or not denunciation, but rather slander. Then she lived alone in an elite apartment, in an elite area. On each floor there is a hall, two entrances to two apartments. One day, going out into the hall in the morning, she saw a tear-stained girl about seventeen years old.. The girl was sitting on a plywood suitcase covered with leatherette, like a prop from a movie about yesteryear.. Red nose, swollen eyes, tears on cheeks and blouse.

She took the girl to her place and asked. . We corresponded for a long time, he called her sweetie, little bunny, wrote that he loved her. Called me, promised a long, wonderful life together. She arrived last night and brought all her things with her, because she's staying for a long time.. And he used it one night and in the morning he put it out the door, putting a small bill in his pocket, saying, it didn’t suit him, turn back. And how to return, everyone in the village knows that she went to marry a rich city dweller, they will laugh at her. How to look your parents in the eyes? What to do, what?

She gave her a couple of napkins to wipe her nose and eyes. She fed me delicious food. She told me to open the plywood suitcase, there were several cheap dresses, obviously bought in a market shop, a plastic bracelet and ceramic beads.

The girl is thinner, but they are the same height. . She told me to try it on. I put my Italian jewelry, Dolce Vita brand, around her neck.

The girl walked up to the mirror and suddenly straightened up, looking at herself excitedly. I saw myself in a new image, my cheeks turned pink.

She kept this girl for three days. She told her to return to her parents with a story that the rich groom gave her all these dresses and jewelry, but he didn’t suit her, he’s unkempt, boring, boring, his breath smells bad, she won’t be able to live with him. I wanted to leave him all the gifts, but he tearfully insisted that she take it and think maybe he’ll come back. But she won't come back. All. Let's wait for another prince.

The girl left happy, chirping on the way to the station. These few dresses, the Dolce Vita necklace, and most importantly, a new look at what happened, a new look at herself, returned to her the expectation of happiness that she had hoped to find and suddenly lost so cruelly and humiliatingly.

And she began to think about how to punish her neighbor, who had thrown his young life out the door like a mangy dog.. He ran an import car showroom. And she gave him a statement to the relevant authorities that she knew for certain that he was smuggling contraband into the country along with cars.. Or maybe he really does, he’s a slippery guy. Let the competent authorities check. If he doesn’t carry it, that means he’ll let him go. There won't be a damn thing for him. If he is guilty, let him answer according to the law. This is a denunciation? Or an act of indignation and sympathy. An act of just retribution.

On the left, plaster fell again from the side surface of the rough stove. Maybe on its own? How old is she?! Or the neighbors are making a fuss.

.

. Didn't call. Well, God bless her. And the pink worms no longer dance in her low window. Other legs pass there, back and forth. Men's boots, women's stilettos, sneakers. More sneakers, they're in fashion now. So many shoes in one day! Running or slowly, shuffling your soles.

It’s a pity that she quarreled with her friend then; she hasn’t had many friends in her entire life.. They walked past a church and she slipped a ten dollar bill into a beggar's paper cup.. My friend was indignant, I live on ten rubles a day, but he doesn’t do anything, he’s sitting here, why did you give him so much money, you’re encouraging a slacker?. .

She justified herself, saying it was none of my business whether she drinks or not, God ordered her to share with the poor and wretched.. . The main thing is that they quarreled, she was definitely not right about this, you can’t lose friends.

Some sounds were heard from the kitchenette shared with the neighbors, and there was a sense of freshness. Apparently, the young housewife went to put on dinner and opened a window there that looked out into the courtyard..

A long narrow corridor led to the kitchenette from her room, her own, from this corridor there was a passage to the right into the vestibule. From the vestibule you can go out into the courtyard, or into the kitchen. This is how she got fresh air, from the kitchen window through the vestibule and the corridor, because the window to the street could not be opened, there was such dust!

She pressed with her finger a stud that had slightly protruded from the leather watch strap..

.

. This was only later, when she could not throw dozens into the cups of beggars on the porch. Her acquaintances invited her to the premiere of the play in the capital, where they played the main roles and staged “King Lear”.

I took a ticket for a reserved seat and left the station to look for a place in a hotel.. . They were completely inaccessible to her. She was told to find a place in a hostel. They gave me a phone number. She called, yes, the money is acceptable. I ordered a bed in a room for ten people. And there is enough for two people? Yes, but it's expensive. Okay, let it be for ten, it’s still only for one night.

I found the hostel, went up to the third floor, walked through the kitchen, where two young men were frying something in a frying pan, and entered my room.. Ten iron beds barely fit in it in a two-story tier.. Her bunk was top! Yes, she won't climb up like this? They didn’t warn her that the beds were in two tiers, that the top bunk was free! The girl sitting on the bottom bunk said that she would not be there that night, and she could give up her bottom bunk for one night, but the bed would not be remade, let the elderly woman take her linen upstairs and hers downstairs. It was a way out. She changed the bed linen and stuffed her travel bag under the bed.. And went to the theater.

Run-through in the morning, then lunch at the buffet with the actors, premiere in the evening. She managed to buy flowers before the start of the evening performance.. I liked the production, I kept a few minor comments to myself so as not to spoil people’s joy of the premiere of such a complex performance.

Returned to the hostel. I discovered that there is a curtain on top, you can use it to close yourself from prying eyes when you go to bed.

In the middle of the night I suddenly woke up from some noise. It turned out that the passage to that room, where there are only two beds, goes through this room, and the “rich” guests who rented the “VIP room” are now carrying their luggage there.

They turned off the lights, everyone calmed down, and she tried to sleep. And suddenly she shook with sobs.

She's in a flophouse! This is not a hostel, this is what they call a flophouse! This is a poor shelter, cramped and dirty, with traces of cockroaches on the wall, the stench from the tiny kitchen, other people's hair on the shower floor. How she sank, how she came to live like this, how fate brought her to this stench and dirt, and the inability to rent a decent hotel room, saving on food, tights and toothpaste. And she sees this straight line, steadily going down and down. And sees no way out. There is no way out, no, nowhere... She returned home a different person. Extinguished.

.

. He, too, remained from the previous tenants, very old, darkened with time, maybe even more than a hundred years old, she thought. A very similar old wardrobe, also dark, with two doors, once stood in the corridor of her parents’ rich apartment, where she grew up. Also inherited from previous owners. They dumped all sorts of rubbish into it before finally taking it to the trash heap. Mostly old clothes. Little, she loved to crawl there with her feet under a heap of rags, hiding from adults when she didn’t want to see them. Or she hid there to cry so that no one would see, she didn’t like to show her tears. She was offended at school, her mother offended her, something else... The closet was her refuge, her personal tiny home, her cave of a primitive man... Then they chopped it into pieces, took out the remaining firewood somewhere, made repairs in the apartment, covered the walls of the corridor with fabric for. Mom was happy, we have a little Versailles!

This second cabinet was almost an exact copy of the first, just as old, dark and mysterious.. It made her happy, as if a piece of her childhood had returned.

Only his door handles were different, the first cabinet had metal, lace, this one was wooden, carved in the shape of a tulip. Also dark, even with a lilac tint. She had nothing to keep in that closet, but she loved it because it belonged to her..

. It's time to go out.

. Others will snatch everything up. This already happened once when she was late and was left without meat for the entire next week, until Friday.

She stood up, carefully pushed the chair under the table, put on a light sweater over her dress, who knows what the temperature is outside. You can’t tell by looking out the window, although the morning was very sunny and warm in appearance..

She closed the door to her room and walked down the corridor towards the exit.. It was dark in the corridor, the only light bulb had burned out a year ago, but there was no need for it, there was nothing in the corridor to trip over.

She reached the end, to the closet, here she should have turned right, but she felt bad. Nausea, some kind of weakness. She grabbed the handle of the closet in the shape of a dark purple tulip and stood there trying to come to her senses.. . . . And it's not scary at all! And it doesn't hurt. It just makes me really sick. How sick I feel... If I throw up now, I’ll fall face down into the dirt, I have to hold on... hold on... Hold on to the closet handle so as not to... Oh, what a morning it was today, the sun is elegant, joyful, splashing with the glee of a new day... 02. 09. 24 g.

. Born in Odessa, graduated from the 4-year school, film actor studio and Odessa University. Has acted in films, published in the press for 15 years. Engaged in translations by Federico Garcia Lorca. Author 4 p’es, more than 150 novels. Member of six creative groups from different countries. The author of a powerful genre she discovered - philosophical parables, “drawn” into a ghostly, suspenseful dynamic plot with an unsatisfactory ending. She also loves another one, because she has found a new genre - the antithesis of the familiar creation of light mysticism, if there is a new type of writing in contrast to the classical one, rub it with you. For example, this short story “On the Night Before Christmas” is the antithesis of Gogolsky’s “The Night Before Christmas”. The novel “Traffic” is the antithesis of Akutogawa Ryunosuke’s stories “In the Thicket” and “Rashomon Gate”.

Awarded by many international cities, awarded with the Diploma of the Italian Academy of Arts Ferroni “For contribution to world art”, the film novel “The Story of a House and Its Inhabitants” received the Grand Prix of the International Festival “Spirituality of Spirituality” and Book of Roku 2017. The film script of “Shaf” was won by the winner at the International Festival of Film Scripts in Canada. And so on.