Текст книги "Don't kill"

Автор книги: Boris Gorowoi

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

"This is a theater of absurd. I need to wake up from a nightmare. It is impossible", – Gerhard howled. A strong Chinese man, with a deacon’s patter, stumbled for a moment and then continued bleating.

But Brenner’s voice came back and he, showing a good knowledge of the Chinese Criminal Code, confidently and proudly said something totally unexpected:

– But there is an article fifty, which states if the convict has repented, the death penalty can be changed for the life imprisonment.

The executioner stopped his melancholy speech, looked compassionately at that paltry man, and having thought a little bit, he said:

– Well, yes. But it is war time!

"Rigorous logic" – thought Gerhard.

– This is mistake. Do not kill! – he suddenly shouted.

Instead of it, the murderer was quickly finishing his speech, swallowing whole parts of the code:

– During the unrest, according to the article three hundred seventy eight ... and according to the article thirty, paragraph five (the death penalty).

This terrible word recalled in his ears many times with the repeated echoes.

– Bring the sentence immediately!

But a modified Chinese pistol instead of spit out quietly five grams of death to the frightened Gerhard, broke in the corridor two tiles, a lamp on the ceiling, because a shot in the executioner’s head shattered his Skull and wiped off his black sunglasses and spoiled his overall. Brenner fainted, but a strong hairy hand caught up him.

Gerhard thought that he had already seen that man somewhere. Really, it was Durmus Ekidzhe, a Turk who held that affair from the airport.

Having caught up Brenner, he ran through the corridors, frightening medical staff and patients. Any resistance on his way, either it was the guard, security services or armed doctor Durmus, he destroyed with two shots. The first shot could be from anywhere, the most important was to have time to shoot first. The second shot was Durmus Ekidzhe’s trademark. The last bullet always hit straight between eyes. If he couldn’t see the killed person’s face, it managed to come up to the conquered enemy, and put that terrible stamp.

Gerhard several times lost his consciousness with horror of what was happening. He saw some dull deep basements. Then someone opened the door, and the world filled up with sounds: with heavy firing of tommy guns, bullets whistling, cries of the wounded and the dead, sound of the saving helicopter’s screws which was flying away over the bay.

The whole life went in that morning. Gerhard looked at his watch. Hong Kong’s time was 6:02 o’clock.

*

At that moment the clock at the residence of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu showed 11:03 PM. That day was, as usual, extremely packed with meetings, conferences, negotiations, writing speeches. Being a very strong man, able to work for eighteen hours, he always felt like an aristocrat, feeling the taste of life. Being a young officer he had to participate in secret operations, in which the young state of Israel was rich, and his mentors taught him that impossible things are possible. He had always kept to that principle.

Maybe being a storm steering of a long narrow boat called Israel, where calm was only in dreams, somewhere in some corners of his mind there could appear not some regret, but a feeling that he could gain the truth, become very devout Hasid, tell wise and funny mays and exhort a poor uneducated Jew. Even on Saturdays he hadn’t time to read and to get ready for the pious way.

Here is, a modern warrior of the Promised Land, the Prime Minister of the seven million inhabitants of Eretz Israel, who always intuitively felt from the citizens a complicated tangle of the reciprocal threads and it was his forte. Insisting on the maximum manifestation of freedom and reducing the prohibitions, he was, in fact, more than a liberal American Jew, that lasted from his youth in Philadelphia.

Looking at the terrible America attack, he realized that his umbilical cord is cut. And he can be the captain of the ark without any fuel, surrounded by the enemy. He was sitting in a large twisting comfortable chair where he usually spent the meeting and replayed in his head a sixty years life: pieces of many read books, the scientists and the experts, who always crowded in his father’s office hallway, a prominent historian and a writer of the Jewish Encyclopedia. Inner faith in Zion, the heroic death of his elder brother, who was killed by the terrorists during the hostages liberation, his book about the roots and moral estimation of terrorism, his diplomatic career. Once he had to work in the UNO. He managed to meet one Rabbi from Lyubavichi, who was over 70. He had bright blue eyes like laser beams. He said: "Soon, you will enter the house of the eternal darkness. They just do what they lie. Remember that even in the darkest darkness, if you light one small candle of truth, it will be seen by the most distant spots. So light a candle of truth by the nation of Israel! "

In front of Benjamin Netanyahu there was a folder with many sheets of paper, which he was quickly and enthusiastically looking through. There were excerpts of reputable Israeli doctors about the latest unique operations of liver transplants, renewal of limbs, elimination of brain malfunction, the secret works of the competitors all around the world. Another uneven thick pile were quotes of the wisest ancient Talmudists about Sheol, the month Tammuz, when once Moses broke the tablets, and in Tammuz there was destroyed the second temple of Jerusalem. "I had a piece of Iyyar left and the whole Sivan. I have time. And maybe my people finally awaken from our modern spiritual impoverishment! "– mentally said Benjamin.

With a great interest he read a few pages of the conference in Philadelphia, on the life extension , in which were reflected, like in a drop of water, the achievements of the last decade. All the more, it was the city of his childhood. A Rabbi Neil Gillman from the Jewish Technology Center said that it was necessary to do everything possible to prolong life. "I'm ready to break the Sabbath and Yom Kippur, even if they are in one day, for the sake of life and delay, for some time, meeting with the Creator." smiled Benjamin.

Probably, in the history of modern times, there had never been done so much work in three days. Hundreds of analysts got access to the information about thousands of banks from two hundred countries of the world, including the Federal Reserve Bank of the United States, tracking transfers of fifty world’s offshore zones. There were caught thousands of ordinary letters and emails and records of telephone calls. Special headquarters in Tel Aviv got initial data from the informants and agents. Intelligence services worked at full stretch and that’s why dealt shortly during the investigation of such acts as surveillance, house-breaking and arrest of suspects. By the process of elimination there were eliminated dozens of states which could organize such an incredibly powerful attack, there were checked the rogue states and all traditional enemies of the USA. When it gradually became clear that the attack had been organized by some criminal group, there were separated thousands of different mafia groups. Some time later, in America, as it often happens, the capital with seven thousand US banks were under suspicion. Google helped very much with the new effective system of facial recognition.

One can say that a carefully well prepared conspiratorial plan of the America attack was disclosed.

"And let everybody speak again that Israel is a haven of thieves. But we did it! ".

Benjamin Netanyahu opened a thick grey folder. The Prime Minister, like a soldier on the front line, got used for many years for any events, but even he felt awfully. In that thick folder there were questionnaires of the military opponents who managed to resist America and start the fire of the war. Day and night, the Pentagon has been trying to identify the enemy. At the end of the folder there was a document with the classified information signed by the US Defense Secretary Chuck Hagel. On the paper there was written that the majority of the opponents were not identified.

At eleven forty PM, the Prime assembled the Committee leaders of the intelligence service "Varash". Each of those six powerful men had held the data with the prepared plan of action. Each of them was given no more than ten minutes to the report. Forty minutes later the plan code-named "A White Flower" was agreed.

– Will see? – the Prime invited everyone to see the first shots of the seizure operation the mansion in Hong Kong. There were brought tea and coffee. The shots showed in real-time as against the background of the morning there were sun four helicopters Stealth Hawk over the mansion. Two special cars in the area of the mansion muffled the whole communication. Elijah, the commander of the squadron, made the commandos a started sign inside the helicopter. Somehow, his shirt and camouflage fabric pattern "digital desert" trousers and his flask for water camelbak has been showing for a long time. Close up they show eighteen commandos armed with weapons of various calibers (favorite ones a sniper version of the mini – and micro ultrasound, assault gun Tavor Tar-21, a snipers gun the Tavor STAR 21, Sig Sauer R226 with a silencer, a tommy gun M4 and Heckler & Koch MP7). They jump on the roof, then an instant mopping-up of the mansion territory and the opening the gates, the fight in the main building and the calm after the shootout.

– Twelve minutes! – Tamir Pardo, the head of Mossad, satisfied with the work of their subordinates said with a Cheshire cat easy smile.

Spectators began leaving quickly. Of course, the involved person, who became recently known as "Maher" wasn’t in the mansion. It was clear that he would be an easy prey. But the seizure of that main warehouse was the half of the affair. With undisguised surprise, commandos found a huge library of the involved person.

But then there were new incredible shots like in Hollywood horror movies. Gentlemen stood still. Dozens of Maher’s people began getting out from some basements, like the Trojan trap. The commandos, having losses, retreated out of the gate, helicopters hit the building, but the terrorists are hiding and continue resist in an organized way. There was a pause on all screens. The Stealth Hawk starts heeling, swaying and twisting. Everyone cried with despair, when the helicopter falls into the firestorm of the burning mansion. Paled military men assembling at the Prime Minister’s place partially assume the responsibility for remote management of the battle, and trying not to lose people, to retreat in an organized way.

No one noticed that at the big table appeared the Chief Sephardic Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak. Netanyahu sat next to Isaac. They were silent, like two ancient sages. Netanyahu was touching his cell-phone, and Isaac was stroking his beard.

– It is not the first time when the paganism erects another golden calf – he said. The antidote to immortality exist, find it up and you will conquer people with it.

Benjamin has been silent for a long time. Then he asked Yosef:

– Rabi, don’t you object to the building of the Third Temple?

For a long time, they have been listening to the night and looked at their souls lights. Isaac didn’t say a single word. The time was two o’clock.

*

Three hundred different clocks at the Buckingham Palace, watched by two servants during their working day, showed eleven PM sharply. Hearing the last subdued melodic sound of the bell, the Queen of Great Britain turned off the light. At eight o'clock in the morning she will wake up, during her breakfast she will read newspapers and will retire at her office for the paperwork at nine o'clock. She had to sign hundreds of documents.

For twenty-three thousand one hundred and eighty days, she has been doing her royal work beautifully, laboriously, regularly and reliably like the clocks of the palace.

Through the open window, a gust of wind brought the freshness of the spring night with the smell of blooming roses. Sounds seemed not to reach the big sleepy town. She suddenly remembered a moment when she was a little Lilibeth and went out to the spacious terrace in the courtyard of the palace. Being the spotlight of endless official ceremonies and receptions, the front pages of newspapers, paparazzi, television, internet and rumors, she, as always, carried her royal dignity with sincere charity, but she was closed for annoying thoughts of her millions patrials. The city seemed to asleep, and she enjoyed the freedom to be herself. Memory suddenly twisted the brightest beautiful pictures. Here she is very little, playing with ponies in the garden, her first love letter to her future husband when she was thirteen years. In 1945 she is with a happy millionth crowds in London on a Victory Day, incognito, exclaiming: "We want the King!". The wedding, the birth of her first child and her sacred coronation. Let noise of the outside material world full of passion, sometimes alien to her, where prime ministers change each other, wars begin and end, empires are collapsed and new countries appear on the world map, she has its own kingdom of the finest world. And in this world there is love, her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, sincere affection and sacrifice, without any calculation.

During the day several times from heaven Albion poured large cold raindrops. Many invitees were slowly entering the wonderful Royal Chelsea Flower Exhibition, adorning with the stylish bright big umbrellas. At three PM there appeared the royal retinue like aliens troops landed. Media beat with the drumbeat, switches and buttons, ready to hear snatches of conversation in "nous" language and being overjoyed, immediately pilfer them on citations. According to the program we were offered some special nominations: for the best small fountain, a mini-garden and a bouquet of original roses. They said that finally, there was created the purple rose and, probably, it will be a favorite of the how. Everyone was waiting for Chelsea Clinton to come, who was late, having stuck in a traffic jam.

Despite of the special security measures, by some incomprehensible way some anonymous entered the accompanying crowd. An awkward bumpkin, dressed an old sweater and without an umbrella, slowly zigzagging bumping clumsily and badly into the aristocrats, saying "Pardon me" instead of "Pardon" and, in the end, he seemed to touch the elbow of the duke of Edinburgh. The royal couple at the same time turned to the place where had to be Dickie Arbiter, but instead of him there was a lanky red-headed fellow, showing in all the ways his joy and happiness. For a split second two absolutely different worlds met with eyes. Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, said a witty phrase: "You probably came here recently, and you do not have a tummy."

At the same moment, the employees of the special services accurately made the stranger out of the suite. Incredibly, the young man hardly spoke English, he had no invitation, did not have any documents and other things, except a heavy pack of twenty pound notes in his pocket.

– I think he entered the back door – smiled one of the suite.

Night star flashed through the gap of the double heavy curtains. On the white pillows there was sleeping Emma, Linnet, Monty, the palace fell asleep and Queen's Guards quietly changed each other.

Only the window of the Royal Guard chief Sapta Boyle was anxiously lighting for the whole night. He missed dinner, he was hungry and angry. The incident at the show could cost him his career. Dozens of times he mentally voiced version of that happened. The truth was so terrible and helpless that, as Sir Winston Churchill said, she had to be protected by the lie squads. He looked once more at the report of the offender’s interrogation, he remembered a categorical, slightly seeded look, and his strange behavior. Firstly, he wanted to let the foreigner go, to give the guards the blast and to hush up another funny incident. But at the end of the interrogation, when the offender asked a cigarette, everything started.

– I could not, I could not, I could not! – He shouted in madness. – It is stronger, it is stronger – his hands began to tremble, pupils widened. – I'm not a Bluebeard! That's why I could not.

Then he said something unintelligible, sometimes shouting the phrase "Yellow Submarine" and "Save the Queen."

Several minutes Sapte Boyle, having closed his eyes, has been sitting on a chair, nervously tapping his knuckles on the table. Then he opened the door of the refrigerator and poured a half of jill Irish whiskey Cooley Distillery with a label St. Patrick. "It would be better to shoot him at the attempt to escape" – Guard mentally complained about his fate and called "John," Sir Robert Sawyer, the Head of MI6, Secret Intelligence Service.

– John.

– Is it you?

– Yes. Just on business. It seems to me that this is one of those you are looking for.

– Do you mean the incident at the fair of flowers?

– Exactly!

– For some reason, I thought so. Tell me.

– I interviewed him. Come here.

Ten minutes later, Robert Sawyer, quietly left his bed, he was going to the Palace, where he met and instructed staffers from Vauxhall Cross 85. They arrived to the entrance of the Palace, where they were already waiting Sapte Boyle.

– Please, let my gentlemen come in. There can be complications, said Robert.

Two minutes later, the men were next to the small police station of the Palace. The door was opened for some reason. Sapta felt unpleasant chill. In the closet, where used to sit a constable, was empty. On the table there was a warm cup of strong tea. Detectives rushed to the iron cage. A heavy prison door opened. Another policeman was cooling and unnaturally sitting on the iron bed surprised looked with unseeing eyes at the infinity.

Suddenly, it dawned upon Sapta that the day became the base for the second life of the Kingdom, and the spark of hope filled with warmth, goodwill and the future.

– Let him go – suddenly he said aloofly without addressing anybody.

*

The storm covered the half of the Atlantic. The plane was carefully avoiding grandiose storm clouds. Through the window, in rays of light, one could see bright sparks of the infinite blue ocean. They were changing, huge whitecaps which disappeared in ten minutes without a trace.

The history of mankind passed like those huge shafts. Every ten years there appeared a shaft gaining its highest level, and like a strong terrible storm the tops turned into the violent white foam, to make some noise and to turn into calm waters.

The entire human race can be placed in a one big city. Influence of the Adam sons alike an insignificant thin layer of the almost invisible the surface over of the globe. It will always happen and a man will never be able to leave that wave, the finest plane compressed between the truth and the lie, wealth and poverty, power and goodness, and birth and murder of demons and angels. They give incredible strength, stars energy, love, and the first cries of a newborn for the creation of this fragile sphere contradicting the whole mental shalmeser to the chaos, famine and death to a man could say the key word between the heaven and the earth. And when you assume that does not yours, simplify more complex and moral beings, measuring everybody against your own yardstick, this finest sphere becomes thin, simpler, there emerge moral holes, leading to degradation, mass drunkenness and vices. And only return yourself to the inner moral imperative, moral idealism, cleansing yourselves of the internal crimes can recover and stop the destruction of the thinnest life layer.

"Do not kill" – thought Colonel. "The death, having punished itself cruelly kills pity and punishes beautiful earthly creatures sophisticatedly and ruthlessly. The human mass murders or emasculation of the multi-structural life always leads to irreversible consequences which can not be restored even by the gods. You can not be the only element, and build the universe with it. The world is built on many multi-level components. An attempt to get the death is alike a feeble effort to privatize the power of the world. It always leads to the bitter futility.

Part 2

Already in the afternoon, together with Thomas they reached Wurzburg. Having driven for an hour by taxi along the highway, they found a neat house of Uncle Rosenberg. Colonel rang the bell. There was silence.

– How old is he? – Asked Thomas.

– Ninety-six – muttered Dux.

– Du bist Schwanz – angrily muttered Thomas. – Come on.

– Wait a minute.

They have been sitting for ten minutes on the porch, swinging their legs. The silence was finally interrupted by a click and a hoarse cough. A senile cracking voice drawled with "o" said:

– Rosenberg.

– It's neighbor from the street in Kirov – bleated Colonel in a youthful voice in Russian. – I'm from countryside.

– I told you, you are Schwanz – Dux turned to Thomas with the widest happy smile.

Finally, from the darkened corridor came Uncle Rosenberg.

– Rona!

Dux in his joy hugged Uncle Rosenberg so strong, that something cracked at the last and he struggled for breath.

– Rona, you've always been an asshole.

Colonel realized that Uncle Rosenberg, firstly, didn’t see anything and secondly, that his only identification was Rona. That’s why Dux decided not to dispel allusions. In a childhood, Rona was a lucid mind, with a sense of humor, creative. He was the first in the village, who began eating ground squirrels’ meat living in his garden. Rona extirpated the rodents feeding the neighbors. Once, late at night he came covered in blood. Lilka, having seen him in the moonlight, stood still:

– I killed a man – said Rona.

She fainted away.

Neighbors came. It turned out that Rona smeared with the chicken blood. The neighbor Uncle Rosenberg then made a demonstration of the corporal punishment.

Men sat in the kitchen. Uncle Rosenberg hardly put a kettle in the curtained off darkened kitchen.

– And how is Sasha Steinbrecher?

– He put on weight.

– And what about Webers?

– These two died.

– Is it true that Kock got so drunk at the final rehearsal that the whole village went almost mad, listening for the whole night a speech of the famous Bulgakov's plays?

– Yes, it’s true!

– Uncle Rosenberg, I'm on business.

The old man poured everybody tea and took put of the pack some tasty pretzels with saffron.

– Do you have the relative in Germany who knows a lot about Nibiru. Help me to meet him.

Uncle Rosenberg's changed countenance, kept silent for a long time, and then crackling giggled.

– It's a fairy tale.

– Okay, we'll go.

Uncle Rosenberg took out thick round glasses and suddenly became serious. He began to observe attentively those kids.

– And you're not Rona.

– I’m a friend of Rona.

– Are you Russian?

– I’m a Chinese man!

Uncle Rosenberg giggled.

– Who is that?

– Thomas – sadly muttered Dux.

– Why is he silent?

– He is a German from Munich.

– Schwanzverlenger – coughed the skeleton.

The Germans started speaking on their native impossible Munich dialect, having begun to guff and hissing the sounds "ich" and "isch".

– Well, let's go!

Friends bowed and went out to the porch. Acacia was heady blooming and bumblebees flew slowly like thick kiddies. They hardly began to close the small art history gate, when suddenly they heard the unique voice of Uncle Rosenberg, like the old violin with one string. They both plunged into darkness, where smelled blue pots of aloe vera from pain.

– I'll help you.

*

Colonel and Thomas began telling their ideas. Thomas was saying long words, such as “Herzkreislaufwiederbelebung” and Colonel tried to simplify in vain his speech with the people's fragmentary German.

– Yes, I don’t, actually, understand the science – said Uncle Rosenberg. – Come on.

They proceeded to the dark bedroom. There was only an iron bed, and there was nothing on the walls except the big ancient embroidery. There was a plan with a Gothic inscription on it: “die Kolonie Schaffhausen”. Uncle Rosenberg took out from under the bed a suitcase "Samsonite" a solid dark blue American trunk of the last century. He began taking out of it different things, like a fakir, and he seemed to forget about the visitors. Uncle Rosenberg took out, for example, a brown leather hat with a wide brim and with rhinestones, a bag with a 9-mm cartridges, a Mauser 712, with the monogram "Schwarz" on the handle, the bonds of the USSR of 1952, 1954 and 1956 of 25 rubles. Colonel and Thomas with great interest were looking at that. Finally, Uncle Rosenberg took out a yellowed parchment with water marks. Probably, it was an address.

– Let's go!

*

The night was falling. Taxi was driving around Würzburg and drove at the highway seven. A Mercedes nestled up to the ideal concrete, like a cumulative projectile. German iron soul opened than the conceivable limits of man and car at a speed of two hundred and forty kilometers per hour. And only on turns our ears were slightly blocked, flashed lights, villages and cities. We drove in silence, and only Uncle Rosenberg, who was sitting on the passenger’s front seat, sometimes spoke about everything with the driver. At night the car left the motorway to Augsburg to the eighth and began dodging along the fabulous copses of Swabia, lit by the large full moon.

– Here we are, – Uncle Rosenberg said in a low bass.

Uncle’s relative’s house near the forest was extremely impressive, with a narrow road, numerous buildings, with an enclosure for horses. Such big houses exist on the homesteads of the respected Bauers. But the luxury facade with ancient mosaics showed the outlines of a small palace. The alley of strong marble gnarly planes was phosphoresced by the mysterious moon gleam.

Rosenberg pressed the button, on which there was a sign: Ohsenkocklinekeweg 1, Augsburg and at the bottom Gustav Jost von Rosenberg.

– Probably another Old Testament Rosenberg – Thomas quietly said through his clenched teeth.

A few minutes later came the porter with the galoons.

– Great! – two young men exchanged glances.

They moved on down the avenue. The moon illuminated by the deathly pale light seemed to be ready to move from the Earth's orbit to leave forever to the endless space. Silhouettes of common pipistrelles were coming out of the dark and the trio instinctively went faster.

*

They placed in a spacious lobby. Soon, there came the host. His thin, pale refined aristocratic noble appearance was quite rare on this earth. His tired blue shining cold eyes seemed to penetrate into the interlocutor’s soul, examining the triad with cautious curiosity. He reservedly smiled the distant east-relative.

– What do I owe your visit to, gentlemen?

The three conspirators spoke unanimously, sometimes interrupting each other.

Thomas angrily told about his invention in Colorado, the computer stealing, and how his work came to bad people. He raised his voice, often correcting glasses and his face darkened.

Colonel shouted that he was ready to catch the villain, but he needed help. His impenetrable look did not promise anything good. It was a dangerous mix of Genghis Khan’s descendants, spontaneous Cossacks, farmers, with a touch of royal blood. With a terrible accent, confusing German synthesis and words, he was pathetically telling the legend about Kolchak’s White Guardist, who had reached the country Belovode, about immortality secret developments in Tibet, about the dark planet and the woman in a sorrow-pyramid.

Uncle Rosenberg with an understanding look widened his eyes and openly mocked at those bachelors. Then he darkened and asked his second cousin, where was the refrigerator. In the village he was called Victor Bloom. His long, lean legs turned in battle into a deadly scissors, and his cold blue eyes popped out to madness. At that moment he felt no pain, no suffering, turning into an obvious berserk. He was a representative of the German community Povolozhye. Many of his relatives were killed by short crowbars in head and put into the ice hole of reddened Volga because there was an order not to waste bullets on the Germans. He went through a mournful wandering in concentration camps of Irkutsk and settling in the village in autumn 1944. Then local residents with surprise discovered that the Germans did not have horns. That winter, at night, they dug up and ate frozen potatoes in the vegetable gardens. Injustice and fights guaranteed him an eternal prison. Probably, he was saved by the incredible cruelty and merry cynical humor, which has been respected in Russia long since the Tartar yoke.

Uncle Witold Rosenberg brought everybody aromatic tea and delicious sweet German knot-shaped biscuits. There was late night.

*

Gustav’s Jost von Rosenberg speech was incredible. They found out the secret of good and evil. And they got knowledge which mere mortals don’t have.

Already early in the twilight, they went out to the porch. Birds woke up, a pair of grey frightened rabbits was rapidly running away from bizarre plane trees, young fresh air breathed out and rustled in the woods. Amazing, forever beautiful Germany played with the first sun rays.

Gustav listened inattentively to the chatter of the boys. He knew in advance what they would say and about would ask. He saw as young men has been peering, for the whole night, into the darkened spacious library, where gleamed tomes of ancient manuscripts. Those modern barbarians, existing in quickening civilization can not physically get the life-giving flickering spirit, unable to separate and to understand the dust of the old knowledge closets. In a moment they seemed not to be people. Thomas looked like a smart rabbit. Colonel looked like a primitive anxious beta macho. And his wonderful second cousin Witold Elpidiforovich looked like unreal Animation, internal skeleton– cuticula ready for everything.

Second cousins Rosenbergs were not similar, but at the same time they were united. They were invisible smiling curious sages. The representatives of the wonderful people whom simultaneously suited Wagner cap, a German uniform, colored tattoos on the nose, wood carving crèche for Christmas and sniper shooting at cameras at the highway.