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Konstantin Semenovich got up from the table, threw over his chair, and staggered to the kitchen.

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In the afternoon, Vova pinched Karochka’s cheek until white spots appeared, which immediately blushed. Vova went to the room. Karochka took out her piece of the mirror, turned her wavy head in front of him and smiled to herself: what the hell does he need? Then she picked up her black dress and looked behind her. And she is not bad. He wonders, damn beautiful. I had lunch quickly, probably in a hurry, at least I sat down. He ran somewhere. Damn beautiful. Karochka glanced in the mirror again and immediately hid it in her apron pocket. Nata came into the kitchen, with two white braids on her shoulders, thin pink hands, and a chubby face that flashed mocking light gray eyes. There is something similar to Lisa Vasylivna in her round face. Something a little cruel, reproachful. Nata leaned over the bowl, smiled at the spoon, and thin red eyebrows rested high on her forehead. In short, this smile did not like.

“What’s so funny?” But Nata laughed out loud in response and poured the borscht out of her mouth.

“What?” Karochka asks again. But Nata laughs and says nothing. Karochka stood straight, holding a plate in her hand, where she intended to pour the dish, and, without turning, blinked obliquely at Nata. Nata laughs. From the devil’s ore. He doesn’t even want to talk. He mocks. Here she stopped laughing and with a proud expression on her red face turned to Kara:

– The embankment will.

The crocodile’s bell rang with porcelain.

After lunch, Nata laughed out loud again, said nothing, and left the kitchen. From the devil’s ore. Karochka looked at herself from all sides and glanced in the mirror again. write lab report for me There is nothing like that.

Tears came involuntarily. She quickly rubbed them with an apron. Vova ran to the kitchen. He looked around to see if anyone saw him, pinched Karochka’s calf and ran out. And what the hell does he need …

Konstantin Galan is sitting at the end of a long table, which is full of guests in a festive mood. This mood is passed on to Konstantin Galan. He sits to himself, circles the guests’ heads, and in his gold-rimmed spectacles the light and blue lights splash and win golden, silver, watery … Konstantin Galan’s sharp face with a long mustache and broad forehead stopped at Lisa Vasylivna. Galan examined his wife, stood up and said bassistically:

– Today, society, Liza Vasylivna is 38 years old.

The heads of the ladies and men returned to Lisa Vasylivna, and everyone clapped their hands as if something heavy was rolling on the bags of nuts. Lisa Vasylivna got up, blushed and, ashamed, bowed to the guests. Galan gave a short speech in honor of his wife, and then his hand with a white cuff and a gold cufflink reached for a tall thin glass, and dozens of glasses rose above his head. The hands were intertwined, the glasses rang thinly and completely, the guests shook their heads, wishing happiness to Lisa Vasylivna, and then leaned back, so that everyone showed their bare neck …

Karochka ran to the kitchen, then from the kitchen, rushed with plates, dishes, bottles of beer. She pulled out the crusts loudly, blushed from the guests’ eyes and kept staring at Lisa Vasylivna, it all seemed to her that she didn’t walk like that, didn’t stand like that, turned around, or maybe she didn’t carry a dish or pull out the crusts so she pointed it only at the wet apron and at the stain that for some reason appeared on her hand.

Karochka shook her head guiltily and left. And then goes again with a dish in hand. She put the dish on the table, went close to Lisa Vasylivna and whispered something in her ear. She whispered something to Konstantin Semenovich, and he got up, tall and fat, flashing his glasses, nodded and told Karochka to do something, and then bassistically said to the guests:

– Dear society, let me receive new guests!

The men and ladies said at once that they were very happy, oh, please.

The door swings open, and in it moves the triangular face of Vova, behind him, like the moon – the face of Nata, and behind her a huge, mottled, in fact, in a cage, a young man’s cartouche with a pimpled, as if bitten face.

Konstantin Semenovich pointed his watery-shiny spectacles at them, then dropped them, wiped them with a handkerchief, put them on and said to the guests:

“Society!” This is my daughter Nata, a student of INO, she is studying well, by the way.

The ladies look at Nata with happy smiles, the men with some curiosity, then clap their hands – oh, how happy they are.

Galan continues:

– This is my son Volodymyr – the cashier of the Industrial Complex. A very nice child.

Vova blushes from the noise of applause. Men have a suffocated smile on their faces, women have a burning curiosity. Galan, flashing his spectacles to the speckled cartouche, said aloud:

– And this, dear society, is a young fellow writer and a student of INO. The writer hastily removed his mottled cartouche and adjusted his white dirty sweatshirt. “He, company,” Galan continues, “hides his own name.” For some reason, Natochka calls him Jonathan Swift. By the way, he is a talented guy. Jonathan Swift blushed with applause, and his black face became plump, trembling, the corners of his lips twitched with joy, and his yellow-green eyes warmed and ate the guests.

“Dear guests,” said Galan to the trio, “please sit down!” – And he was the first to sit down, pulling a chair on the floor. Nata sat down next to her mother, pressed her cheek to her full round shoulder and lightly took her by the waist. Vova made a serious face, which made it even sharper, sat next to a thin lady and looked furtively at her inadvertently bare knee. Writer Jonathan Swift took a notebook from his pocket and wrote something down quickly.

“Inspiration has been found,” said the black bearded man jokingly. And Konstantin Semenovich wiped his long Zaporozhian mustache and, pouring three glasses and not taking a glass of pince-nez from them, said:

– Young people feel awkward. We need to cheer them up a little.

The guests spoke. Ah, how cute. What a wonderful man this Konstantin Semenovich.

“I’m not going to drink, Mom,” Nata said. Oh no, not even wine. No no. Vova smiled. To him, they say, just give. Jonathan Swift wrote something and heard nothing, and when a full glass appeared in front of him, he opened his mouth awkwardly and, without breaking away from the writing, laughed rudely:

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”

“Jonathan Swift doesn’t drink, he’s from the proletariat, and their class doesn’t drink,” Nata said sarcastically.

But Vova stood up for Jonathan Swift:

– Drink class is not a fool either.

“Yes,” said Jonathan Swift, running his frog eyes, “that’s what Mayakovsky drowned.” From said, huh? Great said. Listen, you … – Jonathan waved his hand to Vova, – what’s next … Class drink is not a fool either, but further?

Then Vova does not know.

“Well, if the class isn’t a fool,” Galan said, “then let’s eat.” Karochka placed a plate on the table and touched Vovin’s shoulder with her elbow. Konstantin Semenovich noticed how she shuddered. Her face became changeable, then thick red, then pink, then pale. Konstantin Semenovich has already paid attention to her. She is interesting. As he had not noticed before. He will take this into account. Karochka felt Galan’s gaze on her, embarrassed and left, and he, Galan, sat firmly at the end of the table and, as the chairman of the meeting, controlled the mood of the guests. Glasses were held above their heads, they rang, their hands were intertwined, their heads nodded, wishing each other happiness, their heads were foggy, their chests were full of cheerful mood. The noise at the table increased, and some courage, boldness, and youth flowed into everyone’s veins. The black-bearded man in big round glasses with horny black hoops passionately had a conversation with Lisa Vasylivna, carefully correcting his black butterfly under his beard. Vova went out to smoke in the open door and quietly, enthusiastically told something to the thin lady. Jonathan Swift looked at everyone and wrote something down. Sometimes he would break away from writing, throw his head back, open his mouth and throw his own out of his throat: ha-ha-ha-ha. Nata sat down at the piano. Galan got up, took off his glasses, wiped them thoroughly with a handkerchief, clothes and, pointing to the piano, said:

– Society, let’s listen to my daughter!

And all politely and obediently turned to Nata. She ran quickly with her fingers on the black keys and rolled in one direction or the other, and with it two white braids moved as alive as two goldfish thrown ashore, unable to find a pair. Swift stood beside Nata, listened with his mouth open, then took out a notebook and began to write something down. Karochka came in with a plate in her hand and began to look around in confusion. She looked gloomily at Vova, who was talking to a thin lady, looked at Lisa Vasylivna with a slight fear, then returned to Nata and began to listen to music with delight. Everyone was busy with something, and no one paid attention to Karochka. She covered her face with her hands, wept, slammed her plate to the ground, and ran. But even now no one noticed Karochka. The piano roared too loudly and sweetly. The conversations were too passionate and loud … Jonathan stood up and exclaimed:

– Comrades, my class is crying!

And it was superfluous. Some smiled, some waved, no one noticed that his class was crying. Swift’s tongue, which protruded slightly through his teeth as he spoke, froze between his lips. When Swift speaks, his tongue comes out through his teeth, and his tongue becomes effervescent. He puts his hand on the back of Nata’s chair and keeps his eyes on Nata’s fingers. The piano roared loudly and drunkenly, the sounds echoed, crowded the room, looking for a place to escape, and melted in the hearts like sweet smoke. Konstantin Semenovich got up from the table, threw over his chair, and staggered to the kitchen.

(Continued on next page)

◀ 12345 ▶

Related publications:

▶ “Dirt” by Peter Golota. Files to download

“Dirt” by Peter Golota

Read Peter Golota’s novel “Dirt” online

A- A + A A1 A2 A3◀ 1234567 ▶

But Swift was not even offended. He didn’t seem to hear. He took his briefcase from the table, put it on his lap and rummaged in it. Yeah, there’s a receptionist, Bel. He also has browning in his briefcase. He deliberately proudly pushes the edges of the browning out of his briefcase, although he may not have pushed it out. But let the girl see that Swift is an important person. And Galan is furious. They call him on one phone, then on another.