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Only craft
Sergej Strelyaev
© Sergej Strelyaev, 2019
ISBN 978-5-4496-9556-7
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
Only craft
Chapter 1
“The one who does not see the truth turns away from bad, is not capable to feel pleasures from good; not thinking of death life for nothing will live”, – now he even more often heard the father, to it unusual dreams came, persistently forced out habitual dreams, tried to hint about something. Instead of a ring of coins and wine in beautiful glasses music was, pictures of the far childhood emerged.
Having groped the grown dumb fingers the button, Alexander disconnected an alarm clock. He knew, after three minutes the repetition designed to pull out finally his body from a dream will work. But it will occur later, ahead several minutes of pleasures in complete darkness still glimmered. In time which remained for rest the guy tried to fall asleep, forget the forthcoming day. Fog of close morning enveloped consciousness, immersing in a sensitive somnolence, forced to shudder, opening eyes. In a close window the darkness penetrated by wind was concealed. From time to time the expected signal began to seem. Being afraid to oversleep, he stood up from a sofa, listened to silence, extended a lamp from under a pillow, highlighted the dial of hours. Still there were two minutes. The whistle of wind reaching outside filled the room with nonexistent cold. From one thought – “in half an hour it is necessary to come to a frost and to battle again against elements”, the shiver scolded. Muffling up with the head in a blanket, drawing in under itself knees, Alexander tried to find the reason allowing to stay at home. But the body, contrary to desires of the owner, performed the operations brought to automatism: the ringing click of the switch – and the room lit up is dazzling caustic light. The night trapping behind the jingling glasses, having condensed even more densely, it was removed deep into windows.
The ring repeated. Having shrunk, continuing to freeze, Alexander reached phone, again disconnected an alarm clock. He hated, was even afraid the sounds awakening it. Looking for rescue, changed a melody, the result remained the same. At last, having guessed that it is not sounds, and in the sense put in them, returned to the first, quieter option of a signal. And still, despite innocence, he continued to hate an opposite tweedle. It is not important where and in what time he happened to hear familiar notes, together with them also the morning discontent came back. Having cast away a blanket, he right there regretted about the dressing gown forgotten on a chair. To treasured warmth remained to steam of steps, disgustingly far, stumps.
The left sofa creaked an old age. Being exempted from weight of a body, springs deafly cracked. Having got on feet, the guy right there got back into a bed – it was not succeeded to have a rest in a night: the head was turned, there was a wish to sleep. Ability to move, and reason hardly came back to the languished body, following its example, refused to understand …. The remains of night images still sent consciousness to fantastic corridors; in them strange music still sounded. Every moment of the appearing reality in emptiness several notes were lost, already not clear words of a mysterious song were confused. Soon Alexander had one aftertaste yes silhouettes strange, not hurrying to be dissolved in the dawn, images. They pursued it all day, assimilating to a plane loop, slowly, without losing the sharpness, continuing to attract afar, crept away on the parties.
“Do not close an eye, do not miss anything”, – the father demanded more and more quietly while Alexander did not cease to understand it at all.
“I look…, only good does not hurry. Where it got lost?” – their conversation always came to an end with the same question.
Having found forces, Alexander got up and achieved the planned objectives: having thrown with a dressing gown shoulders, heavily fell in the released chair. Legs shivered from weakness, dull ache howled in all joints, nausea attacks bothered. Tickled in a throat. Cheap Chinese hours on a wall beat off “rubber” seconds – the only sound in impenetrable silence which is not noticed in the afternoon at all. He waited when, bringing new torments, phone rings out.
– Give already, – being irritated, Alexander addressed persistently being silent tube.
Phone which heard the owner, having burst in bells, spread on the varnished table cover.
– Yes, – the voice did not submit; having cleared the throat, squeezed out from itself louder: – I listen.