Ufa, December-2017

The video of a young man writhing in a pool of blood is horrifying. The lifeless body of a 23-year-old girl lies nearby. All this happened in a grocery store in front of customers. A resident of Uzbekistan stabbed his lover 17 times because she refused to marry him. After that, he tried to kill himself.

34-year-old Christopher Tucker killed his 19-year-old lover Tamara Serino. First he strangled the girl, then gouged out her eyes and only then finished off the unfortunate woman with an ax. During interrogation, Christopher admitted that the day before he proposed marriage to Tamara, but she refused, saying that she was sleeping with someone else. According to him, she invited him to kill her. The joke turned out to be fatal.

Moscow, June 2017

On the afternoon of June 22, 2017, a man burst into a cafe located on Mashkova Street in Moscow and stabbed an employee of the establishment at least nine times with a knife. The girl died on the spot from her injuries. The motive was the refusal of the deceased to marry him. The waitress met her future killer on social networks.

Belgorod region, March 2017

The tragedy took place on December 15 last year during a feast in the village of Kryuk, Novooskolsky district Belgorod region. The man proposed to the lady of his heart to marry him, but was refused. The negative answer enraged the tipsy man, and he began to brutally beat the would-be bride, and then grabbed a knife and stabbed her in the chest and neck. The 27-year-old girl died on the spot from her wounds. The killer was given 10 years in prison.

Tyumen region, August-2016

The murder took place in the village of Vagay, in the Tyumen region. 35 year old local resident, who was released from prison at the beginning of the year and returned to the village, drank alcohol with his friend. In the midst of the feast, a conversation took place between them, after which she went outside. Soon the man caught up with her on the roadway and stabbed her in the lower back. The girl died. During interrogation, the killer said that he proposed to his beloved, but she refused.

Pakistan, June 2014

In Pakistan, 22-year-old boyfriend Fayaz Aslam, who proposed to 18-year-old Sidra Shaukat and was refused, doused the girl with gasoline and set her on fire. With traces of terrible burns, she was taken to the hospital, but the unfortunate woman died on the way to the hospital.

Afghanistan, November 2012

A 15-year-old villager in northeastern Afghanistan's Kunduz province was killed when she left her house to go to the river to fetch water. On the way back, the girl was attacked and her throat was cut. The police detained two men. They admitted to cutting the victim's throat after she refused to marry one of them.

Novocherkassk, October 2012

Killed in Novocherkassk, 25-year-old Ksenia Poprugina, daughter of Nikolai Shelkov, deputy director of the largest energy plant in southern Russia, was found in her own apartment. Experts counted 22 stab wounds on the girl’s body, four of which were in the stomach. The main suspect, 24-year-old Alexander Brusnik, was detained without delay. During interrogation, the suspect said that since childhood he wanted to marry Ksenia, but the girl refused him. And soon she became pregnant from someone else.

Aktobe region, March 2012

In March 2012, a 25-year-old guy came to the Shalkar district police department of the Aktobe region and confessed to killing the girl. He indicated the burial place of a corpse with numerous stab wounds. It turned out that the 24-year-old girl agreed young man marry him, and then changed her mind. Then he waited for her after work, took her to a deserted place, where he stabbed her with a knife.

UK, September 2003

Photo @ Wikimedia Commons

The murder itself occurred back in 2003, but it was only possible to investigate it in 2010. The investigation was obstructed in every possible way by the relatives of the suspects and the murdered woman. Nevertheless, the police managed to find out that the girl was a victim of Orthodox Pakistanis. The court found Iftikhar and Farzana Ahmed guilty of murdering their 17-year-old daughter Shafilia, who refused to marry an adult stranger. The couple strangled the girl with a plastic bag in front of their other children at their home in Cheshire and took the body out of town.

Women's logic has nothing in common with logic itself; it is a general name for the charming unpredictability of the fair sex.

In the famous story by A. Conan Doyle, a group of daredevils sets off to an uncharted land, which is teeming with dinosaurs, Pithecanthropus and other prehistoric creatures. There, many unheard of dangers and adventures await them, from which, as we know, they emerge victorious and become known throughout the world.

This wonderful story, which goes off with a bang in school age(I personally read it when I was 11 years old), however, has a very “unchildish” plot beginning and ending, because Conan Doyle was still not just a writer for scouts. And this whole crazy adventure begins with the fact that if anyone remembers that main character, a young journalist, comes to the girl he is in love with to ask for her hand in marriage.

She refuses him because she does not want to be the wife of mediocrity, she would like to fall in love with an outstanding, “interesting” man who has somehow glorified his name. She is ready to give her heart to this one. “Prove yourself somehow, prove that you are not dull, then you have a chance,” she tells him. After which, in fact, the young man joins the expedition going to the lost world.

However, when he returns to the zenith of glory as a hero and daredevil, about whom all the newspapers write and all the scientific communities of London talk, and rushes to the subject of his dreams, an unexpected and bitter disappointment awaits him. While he was fighting monsters and did not spare his belly in the name of science, the girl for whom he did all this managed to get married - and to a small bank employee, a clerk, the one who is now commonly called “office plankton.” Completely gray and unremarkable type. She just came out and that’s it – contrary to logic, her promises and principles.

The hero is hurt, offended by this betrayal, his heart is broken, and he has no choice but to go on an expedition to the lost world again - perhaps to perish there forever, because how can you live in a world where women do not keep their promises, and indeed It is absolutely impossible to understand the logic of their motives...

Let's agree, Conan Doyle understood what he was writing about... Women's logic... No wonder another of his famous characters, engaged in private investigation, declared that he would never marry - because how can someone whose life is built on strict adherence to logical conclusions get along with someone who whose “logic” is not subject, excuse the tautology, to any logical analysis at all?

But here’s another story, no longer fictional, but completely real, which once happened to my close friend. Where is the logic here, judge for yourself.

A friend of mine in his early youth, during his student days, was in love with a girl. In love as an eighteen-year-old person with an ardent heart and pure thoughts can be in love - that is, seriously. The girl was good, smart, from an intelligent family.

The trouble was that she did not reciprocate our hero’s feelings. That is, not that... No, she agreed to meet with him, go to the movies and exhibitions. She knew that he was in love with her, he admitted this many times. In her own way, she liked him, because what girl at sixteen wouldn’t like it when poems and songs are dedicated to her? - and they dedicated it to her.

All this was wonderful, but, alas, she could not find a reciprocal feeling in herself, which, in general, she honestly did not hide. Due to her modesty and good manners, she could not say a decisive “no” to him, but he also could not get a “yes” from her.

This really bothered my friend. This strange relationship - love on his part and supportive “friendship” on hers - lasted for quite a long time. He joined the army, wrote letters to her, and dedicated an endless number of poems. She answered sluggishly... He returned from the army, tried to break up with her, stop communicating, but then time passed, and he called again - and again they bought movie tickets, flowers, but the evening invariably ended at the entrance of her house... There was no prospect of enlightenment.

Time passed. Our hero grew up, the heroine also turned from a teenage girl into an interesting young lady. She already had fans and some kind of personal life of her own, which he could only vaguely guess about. The matter did not move forward. She knew that he was in love and was suffering, but she could do nothing to help him. One day she even told him: “You know, the problem is not with you, but, apparently, with me. And you are very good..."

Five years have passed in such a strange and painful relationship for our hero. In the end, he began to realize that it was time to somehow end this situation and there was no point in getting hung up on, because there are actually a lot of girls in this world. Well, he doesn’t love, and, apparently, he won’t love you anymore. Moreover, she once announced that she was leaving to study in France, for a very long time. long term... well, what can you do? He was absolutely and in no way included in her plans.

And then one day, on a wonderful May evening, at the time of spring flowering of everything and everyone, when young heart I so want to love and be loved, our hero, as usual, saw off his unrequited love from the next meaningless film show (he invited her to the cinema for one purpose - to see each other, because meetings were already becoming very rare). Was invited to a cup of tea at her home.

In principle, all the i’s were dotted: I’m leaving, I’m sorry that nothing worked out for us, you still have everything ahead, etc. All that remained was to drink tea and finally broken hearted go home.

And then her friend came to visit our heroine. And my friend saw her.

And it’s May outside, and everything is blooming. And I really want to fall in love, at least with someone. Moreover, you just received the final “settlement” and you understand that five years of unrequited love is still too much... and you, in fact, don’t owe anyone anything. They don't want you. Freedom. No offense?

In short, my friend invited our heroine’s friend on a date. To some kind of exhibition. And he came with flowers. I don’t know with what thoughts, ulterior motives or not. He had the right, because they made him understand... But you have to build your personal life somehow, in the end.

And then something happened that my friend never expected.

His “unrequited” passion, having learned about a date with his girlfriend, gave both of them an absolutely incredible scene of jealousy. Our hero, accustomed to sluggish communication for five years, could not even imagine such rage, anger, emotions and reproaches. Their essence boiled down to the fact that “you are there behind me,” and similar things.

“You, like a hungry lion, rushed at the first one that came along…” she shouted at him (and in fact, he was a “hungry lion” at that moment, because they themselves would have tried for five years...) and hung up, and when he tried to explain , flatly refused to communicate.

Our hero was completely discouraged and confused. Because just yesterday they told him: I’m sorry, don’t be offended, that’s it... Well, that’s ALL the way. What are you doing now? And here it is. Go figure.

“So don’t let anyone get you!” - this is from "Dowry". My friend is by no means homeless, but he was stunned by the order.

It all ended with her leaving for her France. Forever, it seems. They never saw each other again. And he married that same friend.

What had offended her so much about that rather innocent date? A bouquet of flowers given to a friend? Is it an incredible fact that an admirer, who is always nearby and so quietly and habitually suffers somewhere in a corner, suddenly showed “outside” interest?

No answer. “Mine,” and that’s it. Women's logic. Mysterious and incomprehensible.

And yet…


“How can one not feel reverent amazement and bow before these young and weak women when they, who grew up in the cold and atmosphere of the capital’s great society, left, often contrary to the advice of their fathers and mothers, all the splendor and wealth that surrounded them, broke with all their past , with family and friendly connections, and rushed, as if into an abyss, into distant Siberia, in order to find their unfortunate husbands in the convict mines and share with them their fate, full of deprivation and lawlessness of exiled convicts, burying their youth in the Siberian tundra and beauty...” N. A. Belogolovy.

This is about the wives of the Decembrists. When we men joke and laugh at women’s logic, let’s remember this too.

At its meeting on Wednesday, the Cabinet of Ministers of Ukraine made a unanimous decision to terminate the economic cooperation program between Ukraine and Russia. What the Prime Minister of Ukraine happily told the public about. This once again showed that the fate of Ukraine and the life of its population are absolutely uninteresting to him. And that everything that the current Ukrainian government does comes down to two simple formulations. The first is that Russia is the enemy. Second, to spite my mother I’ll frostbite my ears. Because the chances of survival for the Ukrainian economy are now less than a statistical error could determine.

The program adopted in 2011 until 2020 provided for many good things. Facilitating mutual trade, mutual protection of investments, ensuring the free movement of goods, services and people. And much more that turned out to be unnecessary for Ukraine after the 2014 coup. On the Ukrainian initiative, military-technical and scientific-technical cooperation was curtailed, as a result of which the wind began to blow through the empty workshops of Yuzhny, and at Motor Sich in Zaporozhye they began to produce potbelly stoves instead of helicopter engines.

The actual rupture of bilateral relations, however, did not at all interrupt trade between the countries. Moreover, as it turned out, no one was waiting for Ukraine to turn to Europe. The country masters the allocated annual quotas for duty-free trade in an average of two to three weeks, and the rest is uncompetitive in Europe. And Russia still remained Ukraine's largest trading partner. Moreover, trade turnover only grew. About 7 billion dollars were Russian sales in Ukraine last year. Almost 4 billion – Ukrainian exports to us. Ukraine's share in Russian trade turnover is negligible. Russia's share in Ukrainian is the main one. But Russia is the enemy of independence! And therefore - away with it! Down with all relationships! And let it be worse for us Ukrainians. But it is politically correct.

By God, it’s just like in a cheap provincial production. But it’s not entirely clear what kind of play the Ukrainian authorities are playing. Either “Die, unfortunate thing!”, or “Don’t let anyone get you, if not me!” However, there is no difference. All the same, in the finale of the Ukrainian economy Chopin’s funeral march will play. The first notes have already sounded. It will be faster now.

Humorous fiction- a fantastic subgenre that has remained relevant for decades. The fantastic setting, which allows you to act both with and with different levels of civilization, is ideal for realizing any of the author’s plans. The degree of seriousness in humorous fiction may differ. Some works make readers laugh to tears from the very first pages, and in some you will have to read halfway to understand the comedy and absurdity of some situations. The subgenre has established itself as fully formed; many of its works have become classics.

Features of books in the genre 2020

Books of humorous fiction are popular among the most different people. Written in easy language, the works are suitable for children, teenagers and adults. The reader is easily immersed in the world of the work, thanks to which time flies by. Ideal choice in order to pass the time on a trip, in line or before bed.

Where else if not here will you meet such a variety of heroes? These could be typical martinets, and serious scientists, and children of rich parents, and ordinary people whom fate has brought thousands of light years from home, or maybe just children. The plots and situations in the works differ from each other so much that it is difficult to single out any one category. Even satire is possible here, sometimes scandalous, but honest. Works of this subgenre will not let both amateurs and beginners get bored.

... Sveta called the police herself, in the middle of the night: “Come, I killed a man.” I dictated the address. The caller's voice was so calm that for some reason the captain on duty on the phone did not doubt for a second: she would really wait for the task force to arrive - she would not run away, she would not disappear. When the team arrived at the place named by Sveta on the phone, a young long-legged creature was sitting on the stairs (for some reason, this particular detail is long, perfect shape crossed legs - remembered by both the investigator, the doctors, and the expert).

The house was a service house - huge communal apartments were occupied by doctors working in one of the large clinics in the city. In the apartment called Sveta, the door was half open. There were no neighbors at home - it was summer, everyone had gone elsewhere. Only from the room where the girl refused to enter, only helplessly waving her hand: “There...”, a strip of light broke through.

A man of about forty was lying on the floor in an awkward position. The snow-white shirt on his back was billowing with blood.

The doctor quickly listened to the pulse, nodded to the team: “Alive,” and the victim was placed on a stretcher and taken away.

During interrogations, Sveta refused to speak. All she kept saying was: “Try me for murder.” Ilya did not regain consciousness for a long time, although the doctors had already said that there was no danger to his life. Lawyers were not immediately able to understand the picture of what happened. However, they eventually understood it in the most general terms: attempted murder motivated by jealousy.

But something prevented the investigator from putting the finishing touches on this case, which was so simple from a legal point of view. Something haunted her, she needed to get to the bottom of it, figure it out, understand... And then she called her psychiatrist friend, Yuri Nikolaevich, asking to visit Sveta in the prison isolation ward (the girl was in deep shock).

No, the investigator did not suspect Sveta of schizophrenia or any other mental illness - however, Svetlana still had to undergo a sanity examination. It’s just that Yuri Nikolaevich was not one of those doctors who prefers to heal their patients with injections and pills. “Working” for this person means conducting many hours of conversations with his charges, slowly, “piece by piece,” calling them to openness, winning them over and influencing their psyche with the power of his influence, convictions, and maybe even hypnosis - God knows, the investigator I didn’t understand these subtleties.

She knew one thing: dozens of women who tried to commit suicide, having fallen into the hands of Yuri Nikolaevich, did not undergo conventional treatment at the clinic. And they were discharged without a depressing diagnosis that could set a stigma on the rest of their lives. Moreover, they left the hospital somehow enlightened, - looking at life in a new way and never again - in violation of statistics indicating that suicide will definitely happen again - did not return to the desire for death.

Svetlana did not react at all to the doctor’s first visit. Ponuro sat on a hospital bed, looking at one point with glassy eyes, and answered in monosyllables:

"Not really". She didn’t ask if Ilya was alive, didn’t ask what would happen to her, didn’t ask about her parents, who cut off the investigator’s phone and begged for a meeting with her. It was as if life had ended for her somewhere beyond the line that separated the previous time, unknown to outsiders, and the night when she dialed the police phone number.

One day, visiting Sveta in the isolation ward, Yuri Nikolaevich casually asked: “Tell me, do you love Dostoevsky?”, and for the first time he saw a glimmer of interest in her eyes. They talked for a long time - and only about Dostoevsky. The next time the doctor asked the girl to tell him about her childhood and no longer encountered a wall of icy silence. For the third time, Svetlana herself spoke about what happened to her and Ilya.

...Svetlana studied at a medical institute. The stipend was absolutely not enough to live the way she wanted, so she worked part-time as a nurse. At the first meeting, the relatives of the patients always reacted to her with caution: Sveta was too different in appearance from someone who could carry out “ducks”, turn over and wash heavy bedridden patients, in general, do all the things for which, in fact, people and ready to pay a lot of money. Almond-shaped, skillfully lined eyes, a short, tight-fitting white robe and teasing, eye-catching legs... But after the first day that Sveta spent at the patient’s bedside, the attitude of her relatives towards her changed radically: Svetlana was an extremely skillful, gentle and resilient nurse. Moreover, with almost completed "top medical".

That winter, Sveta was on duty at the hospital next to a young man who had been in a serious car accident. During the day his relatives crowded around him, and at night they came - Sveta or her “replacement” Tanya. The boy was in a coma, it was very difficult to serve him. Sveta knew that Tatyana always slept for three or four hours on the night of her duty - on an inflatable mattress, which during the day “lived” under the hospital bed. But Sveta herself could not afford such hack work - she stocked up on a thermos of coffee, sandwiches and sat idle.

Ilya worked in this department as a surgeon. He was not the attending physician of Sveta’s ward, and “due to the nature of his service” they did not collide in any way. But for some reason, more and more often he slowed down, walking along the corridor past their room, and one night he simply went to her and asked if she needed any help.

Sveta was not a little girl and understood perfectly well what Ilya was getting at. That it was not without reason that they ended up together in the smoking room, it was not without reason that the hospital nurses began to look at her with a malicious smile, and, finally, Tanya, whom they once encountered on the way out of the hospital, said to her: “They say that this handsome Ilya Sergeevich takes extra night shifts from “For you? What, friend, is it a novel?!”

Ilya Sergeevich was indeed handsome - black and gray hair, yearning steely eyes, a strong torso - in general, the whole “gentlemanly set” of an aging womanizer, but they did not have an affair. And, apparently, it couldn’t be. Sveta instinctively avoided this type of man, having been burned once at the age of seventeen and firmly knowing that such lovers and favorites of women were unable to give anything but torment. In general, everything turned out by chance - Svetlana was invited to visit, where her former acquaintance was supposed to come with his new passion, Svetlana could not bear to go there alone, and Ilya agreed to accompany her to the metro. So she invited him to accompany her.

Then everything was also accidental. The company was stormy, tipsy, the guests engaged in some kind of “showdown”, and by one in the morning it suddenly turned out that Sveta and Ilya were alone in someone else’s apartment. The hostess, without leaving Sveta the keys to lock the door, went to a friend’s place, and the rest of the guests dispersed... In short, I ask you to excuse me, supporters of strict morals.

It was this night that turned everything in Svetlana’s life upside down. She turned it upside down so much that in the morning, when she woke up, she could not understand for a long time: was this night real or was it a fantasy, a dream?.. But, propped up on his elbow, Ilya looked at her. Mocking. Quite real. And she understood: it was. I didn't dream it.

The whirlwind that carried Sveta into the abyss of pleasure was incomparable to anything she had experienced before. She knew men, knew them, as it seemed to her, quite well, and before she was in full confidence that, alas, she was no longer destined to know anything fundamentally new. Now Svetlana understood that she knew nothing...

From the moment Ilya put his arm around her shoulders, she completely lost control over what was happening - everything began to spin, carried away somewhere, leaving only the slight smell of his cologne, the loud ticking of the clock (only later did she realize that it was her heart beating) and the power of his wonderful, experienced, soft and powerful hands... Sveta did not know how long this night lasted for them. The next morning she actually doubted her name. She was born again - and when she approached the mirror in the bathroom, a completely different woman was looking at her from behind the glass surface. For some reason, this woman was not just damn beautiful and fresh - her eyes sparkled with real happiness.

May the readers forgive me - I do not relish the details. You just can’t do without a story about that night. For everything that happened next already existed in the sphere of magnetism of their proximity. The field that arose between them immediately and finally predetermined the course of their lives. Only it. And that's it. I believe that anyone who has experienced this will understand.

They started dating. From the outside, Ilya’s relationship with Svetlana was no different from a very ordinary romance - he called, she came to him, in his eight-meter room in a communal apartment. Everything is like everyone else. Except, perhaps, for the fact that they never went anywhere together - not to friends, not to the theater, not to restaurants, not even to court cinema. Not because there was no opportunity - Ilya is single, Sveta is free, and there would be time for cultural forays. They had no such need - that's the point. They could only exist in a special world into which Ilya led Sveta by the hand, and outside of this world their meetings lost meaning.

No, they did not spend all the hours of their dates in bed. But from the very threshold, when she rang the doorbell with a wildly pounding heart and listened behind her to the already familiar, painfully soft steps, and until that minute when Ilya came out to see her off, this whole world was permeated with sensuality and passion.

They drank coffee that Ilya brewed in a small Armenian Turk, they listened to music on his tiny old record player, he plucked the strings of his guitar and sang some simple songs for her, they played cards, sitting cross-legged on an ottoman that took up almost the entire his room, they even sometimes read next to each other - he his book, she hers - and all this was filled with an insane desire for each other.

Constant, enduring, which at times literally paralyzed the Light. And all those moments when they did not belong to each other were just a prelude, a masochistic delay of the moment when nothing could hold back this barrage, and they were thrown into each other’s arms. And each time their love was love like before the end of the world or before the death of a ship in a storm. “Never leave anything for later,” Ilya taught her. “Every time should be the last...”

Sveta loved everything about him. Voice intonation, gait, smell, habits, flaws. She loved so much that the mere thought of a possible separation made her faint. Nobody knew about their meetings - Sveta was convinced: if she tried to explain to someone what exactly connected her with this adult, twenty years older than her, no one would understand. At best, they will call her a March cat, and he will be called an old lecher. But this is not true - there was neither vulgarity nor primitivism in their connection. Everything that happened between them was unusually spiritual, the fulfillment of a higher meaning, understandable only to the two of them.

Svetlana never wondered about Ilya’s other women. I knew there were a lot of them. I knew that some nurses in the hospital hated Ilya because he once did not respond to their feminine call. She saw that the weaker sex was drawn to him with incredible strength - apparently, only this ancient “sense in the spine” did not immediately work for her, while others, three kilometers away, felt the masculine strength emanating from him, self-confidence, in a word, completeness. Sveta knew that Ilya had never been married - she saw the passport that was always lying on his refrigerator. And most importantly, she unquestioningly believed that while she, Svetlana, was with him, there could be no talk of any other woman? “Because you and I are a rarity, it happens once in a century...” Ilya sometimes whispered to her.

Sveta had no doubt: this really happens once every century. Not because she has lived for a century. She was happy, and she didn’t care whether there was a happier earthling in the world - her happiness was incomparable to anyone else.

And she tried not to think about what would happen next. Married or not, what's the difference? Everything will be as he wants. As long as he doesn’t disappear, doesn’t disappear into nowhere, and while his phone call is heard in the apartment, she’s alive and ready to move mountains...

Mom, peering into the face of her suddenly grown-up daughter with unkind alarm, sighed: “Look, Svetka, your “pensioner” won’t bring you any good! ... yard boy, you run to him at night!”

And Sveta, peering at the men sitting opposite in the subway car, thought: “How strange: here are people completely unfamiliar to me who are going somewhere. Each of them has their own life, their own inner world, their own shortcomings and advantages, and, perhaps, one of them is predestined for me by fate, appointed in life to become my husband, the father of my children... And I have no need to get to know them, to get used to someone, to listen to other people’s monologues, to be imbued with other people’s problems... There is only Ilya And. nothing else makes the slightest sense. Maybe love is the desire to stop at one specific person in the search for happiness?..”

Time passed. Year. Two. Ilya introduced Svetlana to his family - his mother and brothers. But this only meant that they now knew each other. And - nothing more. Ilya still valued freedom more than anything in the world, and if he dreamed in his spare time about how he and Sveta would arrange the furniture in their house and what they would name their son or daughter, he only indulged his own momentary mood.

Contrary to the assertion of all sexologists and sexopathologists, cooling and dulling of emotions did not occur. When they were alone, everything was the same. And as before, he was able to call her with a long-distance call to another city, and she would fly to him, dropping all her business to spend just a few hours with him; and still, even on days of serious quarrels, she could dial his number and say: “I want to come to you” - and he would find her wherever she was.

… “Probably, this could have gone on for decades,” Svetlana finished her story, turning away from Yuri Nikolaevich. She could only explain the worst thing - the last night. And she - apparently realizing that she would never again be able or would confess so completely - went to the end.

  • On the last night, Ilya was called for an emergency operation, and, leaving me in his room, he went to the hospital. I foolishly decided to give him a surprise - to clean his room perfect order, wash everything, re-clean... No, I wasn’t going to rummage through his things, look for something - after all, it seemed to me that I knew everything about him... I didn’t even think that I might stumble upon something that I wasn’t supposed to see.

But I came across it. First - on curlers... Then - on a stack of women's letters, dated two in recent years, and even a letter from a week ago.

Probably, if Sveta had found something other than curlers - perhaps a woman’s hairpin, cosmetics, or even a piece of clothing - it would not have had such a dramatic effect on her. In the end, no matter how much she drove this thought away from herself, she left the possibility that during the years of their relationship Ilya could have accidentally slept with someone else somewhere. But the curlers... Evidence that Ilya’s relationship with the stranger was so close and long-standing?.. So, this woman existed in parallel with her, with Sveta?.. And that means that Ilya told the other one the same way as her: “Everything It must be like the last time"?..

The half hour that separated Sveta’s discovery and Ilya’s return passed like one second. The girl already knew what she would do. No, she was not going to say goodbye to life - she would destroy him, the one who took away from her the most sacred faith in life - faith in exception, in ideal, in unreality. He will never belong to anyone again - this man who forced her to be born again. He will never again hug anyone by the shoulders and whisper his stupid words...

She stabbed him immediately - as soon as he entered. Without explanations, clarifications and scenes. She aimed for the heart, but Ilya somehow accidentally turned around and the blow hit him in the back. As he fell, he met her eyes - probably she had never seen greater amazement. Ilya’s head hit the floor, the hand holding some forms for information unclenched... Sveta went outside and called the police from the machine.

...At the last interrogation, the investigator asked Svetlana: “Do you regret what you did?” “I don’t understand what you’re asking me,” she answered. “I don’t feel anything. Nothing.”

I admit: most of all I was afraid that I would not be able to find the coordinates of the girl who served five years for the attempted murder of a loved one. But I got them...

How strange, I thought, looking for Sveta’s house, we are used to thinking of lawyers as dry and, most often, cynical people, stuffed with official formulations and article numbers of the criminal code. But this female investigator, it seems, had been deciding for herself for many years a question that was legally clear: who was the true criminal in this story?..

Yes, back in the Middle Ages people philosophized - could passion be an excuse for a crime? But four centuries have passed since even Shakespeare’s tragedies. And we, earthly people, woven from hundreds of sins and vices, still do not know the final answer and are looking and looking - no, not justification, but explanation.

Human life is sacred, and whoever raises his hand to it is a criminal. This is an axiom. The desire to understand why? - the duty of any lawyer. A duty that is so rarely fulfilled by them...

...In the vestibule in front of Sveta’s door I saw a baby stroller. In the hallway there are rompers and blouses hung up. Standing in front of me was not at all the fatal beauty that the relatives of the patients managed to confuse with a fashion model or fashion model - an elderly woman, thin to the point of exhaustion, in jeans and a washed-out pullover.

  • “Come in,” she invited in an impersonal voice, and while we were walking to the kitchen, she said that her husband was at work, her daughter was sleeping, and we had an hour to talk.

The conversation didn't work out. Maybe because I knew too much about her, the old one, and could not reconcile the heroine of the investigator’s story with this rude (the zone does not pass without a trace?), anemic woman. “He’s a good husband,” she said, stirring the porridge and not looking at me, “not everyone would decide to marry a woman with a prison record, and even such a past. He gives away his salary, he adores his daughter, he helps around the house.” I still didn’t dare ask her the question for which I came, but she apparently guessed it behind my silence:

  • Ilya left the city long before I was released. No, I didn’t try to find him. I try not to think about him, but sometimes, unfortunately, I dream about him, and then I wake up all broken and sick. But in general, everything has passed.

As we were saying goodbye, I noticed that on the calendar hanging in the hallway, one day out of every two weeks was marked with a circle.

    Are you still working as a babysitter? – I suggested casually.

    No, I'm celebrating the day I slept with my husband. So that he doesn’t touch me before the agreement. For me this is like hard labor...