Бесплатный фрагмент - Obedient stranger

AN OBEDIENT STRANGER

THE STRANGER AT THE TABLE

In one of the shopping centers of the capital, it was crowded. After a long winter, the first warm weekend came to Moscow. Everyone began to smile, joke, and transform more noticeably. This was especially true for our dear women. In general, it felt like a real spring, which marketers took advantage of, offering various promotions and discounts to the public. All this caused a stir, there was a crowd in boutiques, people hurried to make new clothes for themselves, and then, tired of shopping, went up to the floor above, to the so — called food court — a chain of fast food establishments. By midday, there were queues at the ticket offices, and the main hall was crowded.

A family of three was sitting at one of the tables. They had just picked up a tray full of fast food and started eating. The man and woman were both in their late forties, and their son, who looked too much like his father, was about twelve. The boy was dressed in teenage clothes with a baseball cap on his head. I watched him as he greedily unwrapped the paper wrapper with his thick fingers, freeing up a double hamburger to devour. Then a smug smile would appear on his round face, as if he was enjoying the moment of contemplation, and he would stuff it into his mouth with such greed that I was even afraid that he might accidentally bite his finger. Maybe the boy was less than twelve years old. Now children are growing up fast. I was more interested in his mother. I preferred not to look at the father of the family. He looked indifferent, exhausted, and lethargic. Either he had a bad heart, or he was tired of running around the shops. He was also munching on a sour-mien burger and frowning. There were shopping bags under the table.

His wife turned half-sideways, almost with her back to me, as if dismissing me, even though she had a chance to sit in another chair. Nevertheless, she sat down opposite her husband, who sometimes raised his head and looked at me with displeasure. They weren’t signs of jealousy, but rather annoyance that I was just sitting next to her.

I liked the way she dressed. She was wearing a light, stylish jacket made of soft, high-quality leather and a pleated white skirt, very short, barely covering her slender legs. They were especially piquant in small checkered stockings with garters (these lace garters were very clearly visible) and black shiny boots with high heels. She was evidently very fond of these boots, and sometimes, stretching out her foot, she admired them and adjusted the fringe and spangles on them. To all this precious, and really, I wanted to fall down and touch, and the woman, feeling the eyes of other men on her, sometimes allowed herself some kind of prank, such as throwing her leg over her leg in public. It is worth noting that there was some charm magic in this graceful movement with signs of French charm. It was obvious that she liked this game, that she was clearly enjoying this unobtrusive exhibitionism, and that she was making fun of us mere onlookers. The woman seemed to be trying to convey to everyone: “Look how beautiful I am, how good I am, and, by the way, I’m still a naughty girl.” Unfortunately, I was sitting behind her and was saved from the temptation to look up her skirt, but I knew that she was smiling, and I pictured that smile in my mind. And when this woman turned her pretty head slightly so that I could see her beautiful, graceful profile with its regular features, her plump, sensual lips, sparkling under a layer of scarlet lipstick, barely curved at the corner of her mouth. I froze, feeling a little excited, not without reason assuming that such lips, in moments of intimacy with men, undoubtedly knew many shameless and self-denying scenes. I had no doubt that she had been unfaithful to her husband.

Time passed quickly, and I admired her silky brown hair, which was loose and slightly touched, apparently by the street wind, so as not to get bored at all. It fell over her shoulders in a neat handkerchief, reaching to her shoulder blades. Their color was natural, and the faintest hint of gray didn’t mar them. My stranger’s hair was obviously cut by a man, probably in love with her. His skillful hand was felt in every position of the strands and curls. He seemed to have put everything into that simple hairstyle, even the impossible.

The woman was on a diet plan, even though there was a milkshake with a straw in front of her. I expected that she was about to take this tube in her sensual mouth and suck it, as if reluctantly, but the stranger hesitated, as if on purpose, teasing me. Her thin fingers, with their expensive manicures, were equipped with a modern communication device. Either an iPhone or something like that. A page, her personal page, was open on the wide, convenient screen. Then I could take advantage of my husband’s absent-mindedness to get a better look at his wife. But I didn’t quite succeed. She quickly flipped through the photos, most of them intimate, until she came to one that showed only her pretty hand with a bright red manicure. On the third finger was a thin ring with some kind of dull stone. The woman herself was apparently sitting inside the car with her hand on the BMW’s leather steering wheel. That ring was missing now. Perhaps she was hiding it from her husband.

I needed to get another beer, but I was justly afraid that my table would be taken. Besides, I was wondering if my husband knew about this page. Looking at the apathy with which he pushed French fries down his esophagus, probably not. And I became an unwitting witness to her secret. There was no doubt that she enjoyed sharing her intimate photos with outsiders, flirting with them, provoking them, and now, dangerously close to being exposed in the contrast of fiction and reality, this woman seemed to rise up in my eyes, becoming even more beautiful and desirable.

The bored family members, having finally finished eating, also took out their phones and began to look at something and point lazily with their fingers. Her husband especially upset me. Well, he might have noticed the changes that were taking place in my presence with his wife. This conspiratorial look, avoiding eye contact and a rush of adrenaline, expressed by red cheeks and rapid breathing. She was clearly playing with fire now, boldly exposing her soul to the stone throwers, but maybe I was exaggerating the risk of exposing her. After all, even if the husband could look into her display, it is unlikely that he would recognize in these candid pictures his life partner and the mother of his child. The stranger skillfully concealed her face with good angles, and those immodest poses of her body bending in desire in expensive underwear, all these provocative pictures would not have aroused any suspicion in a person who knew her.

Her husband had long since ceased to be sensitive to the desires of his woman. It would seem that he had a job, albeit not so highly paid, but sufficient to meet the needs of his family in clothes and food, there was an apartment, albeit small, but with a good and high-quality repair, there were acquaintances, friends, stupid and envious, but with them it was possible to have fun celebrating the New Year… And everything went as planned. My son was finishing school, my wife was a homemaker, and I went on vacation abroad once a year… In our time, stability is important for maintaining a marriage. In addition, he was never a tyrant, always went along with his wife, yielding to her whims. Apparently it turned out that their once strong feelings grew into a habit, and the spouses needed each other only for status, as business cards of their wealth. Of course, I could have been wrong then, since I was assessing everything at first glance and had a few beers, and I was in a rather playful mood. I wondered how many lovers she had, and how perverse she was in bed with them. After all, when her beloved man grows cold to a woman, she inevitably, unless, of course, she is a holy martyr, finds another, and in most cases the opposite of the beloved, a monster, a scoundrel, a scoundrel, a complete egoist. Maybe, of course, in her case, there was no love at all. I was just guessing on the coffee grounds.

Meanwhile, I suddenly wanted to find her page on the Internet, join her countless, which I did not doubt, army of fans, leave some enthusiastic and full of pure truth compliment-comment, but how? I was faced with a difficult task, and I took a deep breath of air and let it out resolutely, figuring out what tags I should use to find this interesting person in every sense, and this trend touched her silky hair, and it played with an iridescent fire. She suddenly felt me and started, and I don’t think I remember now, shifted in her chair and, to hide her excitement, leaned back, switching her legs. Her son said something to her while he was playing Tetris on the phone, and she just nodded. Then he got up heavily, asked his father for money, and waddled off to the cash register to get another tray. Left alone, the couple exchanged a couple of phrases that vaguely resembled a dialogue, something like “Today promised rain”, “Yes, rain is good” or “I want to smoke”, “So go” and again buried in their gadgets. After a while, her husband got up and said to her:

“I’ll go.”

She nodded to him as she had nodded to her son, and was left in proud solitude. That’s when she picked up her milkshake, turned her profile slightly to me, and began to suck gently on the straw. After sucking a little, while in short breaks licking her lips with pleasure, she noticeably smiled, as if to someone invisible in the hall, feeling my inquisitive gaze on her. Then, setting the cocktail aside slowly, she held the iPhone up to her face and looked at it as if in a mirror, and only then did our eyes meet for the first time in the reflection of the display, and it was as if a spark burned through me.

“Obedient stranger,” I said aloud, so I wouldn’t forget her name.

SERGEANT YEGOROV

Sergeant Yegorov saw a lot on his way. He saw severed fingers, shattered skulls, and sectarian stars burned into the chest. And if at the very beginning of the journey, so to speak, in his youth, he had savored every detail of the crime almost to the point of trembling, knowing the true causes and consequences like a tick, now all this had long since fed up with him. It was as if he had grown stale in the service, like a hundred-day crust of bread, and without noticing it, he had become a cynic, often allowing himself inappropriate jokes in “normal” society. Why did this “normal” society in the face of prostitutes and petty thieves squeeze into the cold bars, rightly fearing that he had long gone off the rails. For him, as for a true patriot of his Fatherland, the picture of the world by his twenty-eight years was built up a certain one. America is to blame for everything, and, of course, the beautiful women. And everything was drawn by the ears to this theory and fit smoothly into it, like dominoes in a tin box, without causing any questions from the authorities who turned a blind eye to everything.

Of course, there were complaints about Sergeant Yegorov, and usually there were complaints from lawyers who were sulky and shiny from an overabundance of material assets, but he had a short conversation with them, or rather he did not talk to them at all, considering that all these liberal habits, veiled Semitism and flirting of the authorities with democracy lead to the destruction of Russian statehood itself.

“The government must be tough and uncompromising,” Sergeant Yegorov would bang on the desk in his office, usually in the late afternoon, waving his hand.

The bouncing and tumbling of countless files with hanging cases confirmed the correctness of his words. The sergeant frowned as he was littered with them, and grinned slyly at the old portrait of Dzerzhinsky, which had miraculously survived from “those glorious times” even after a single major overhaul in 2011. The time when the militia was renamed the police.

“America with all McDonalds and Hollywood should be equated to a vigorous mother long ago! he continued with conviction and truth, as if at a party meeting. “You don’t want to seduce our man with cheeseburgers, negroes, and homosexuals… And our women, all beautiful women, let them give terrible ones to those who “want”, we must forbid them to wag their ass in front of people, well, like in Iran, and basta! and again there was a merciless thump on the table against all the enemies of the Fatherland, which could be heard even in the distant barred corridors where the detainees languished. “All crimes will end here. That’s when you remember Sergeant Yegorov, your mother, but it will be too late! Here he would drop a tear, his voice trembling. For some reason, Sergeant Yegorov was convinced that he would end up badly in the service and did not expect to retire.

“You’re going to laugh, Felix, but they’ve had peace and quiet in Iran since’ seventy-nine… except that they execute terrorists and drug addicts, and there’s a certain amount of natural selection, so to speak, and a certain amount of calculation error. Plus again the machinations of our beloved Amerishka, who brings up all these non-Christians…”.

Iron Felix, too, seemed to be grinning under the centimeter-thick layer of dust.

— America and women… And basta! Yegorov expressed his decisive thought aloud, and moved it with all his might, so that if it hadn’t been for the concrete floor, the table legs would have bent like nails in butter right under the hat.

Somewhere in the corridor, the woman he’d detained the day before was howling hysterically, demanding a lawyer, but her plaintive wails didn’t touch the sergeant’s soul at all. Serving in the police force has long been routine for him. The state paid him a good salary for this routine, and also gave him a social package, which included health insurance. According to it, Sergeant Yegorov was required to pass specialists once a year, including a psychiatrist. And each time, after the necessary consultation for order, he received the coveted certificate “fit” and again began to serve. But this criminal case shocked even a seasoned employee.

Staggering a little, blowing a cloud of smoke in front of him, he left the office and walked down the corridor. All the detainees had been asleep for a long time or pretended to be asleep, except for “this one protester,” as he immediately described her.

“Calm down, young lady! Calm down… not a full moon tea … " he frowned as he approached the bars. “Wait until morning for a little while, and then my duty will end, Figeev will come. So he’ll let you out. He is kind, and I am evil. Do you understand?”

A decent, well-dressed woman with tear-stained eyes and mascara running down her cheeks like Pierrot replaying a scene in a children’s play, suddenly clung to the bars and shouted angrily:

— You have no right to keep me here!”

“I have, I have no idea, these are not questions for me, young lady! My superiors demand reports, giving me certain rights and responsibilities. I can detain anyone who looks suspicious for twenty-four hours, and even shoot them when they are apprehended. And who is to blame? America is to blame! I’ve seen enough of your liberasnya Hollywood with all its shooting games and police brutality. Here is the result. Reap what you have planted.

“Well, what’s that got to do with me?” What am I being accused of? and the woman herself looked around in surprise, adjusting her canvas skirt. — If you thought I was a prostitute, it’s just a sick fantasy of yours. How suspicious am I?

“Well, I thought you were suspicious right away. Agree, in a public place late at night in a short skirt and even with sharp scissors, you run out of the bushes and immediately kiss me. And, by the way, although I am a woman’s hunter, but not to the same extent, I have some decency.

— I want a lawyer right now!”

— Yeah, now at one o’clock in the morning, their fat w… will come crawling here… Young lady, don’t be naive.

“I protest!” The smell is awful in here! And a bed with bedbugs!

— It doesn’t make any sense, young lady, you didn’t come to the ball as Cinderella, did you?” You’d better wait for Figeyev. He’s a former dancer. You can also save a polka with it if you want. Thank God the camera’s capabilities allow it, but I can only break bones.

And the policeman took his fingers in the lock and cracked them unpleasantly.

— I beg you, Yegorov, one call to my husband… — the detainee did not give up and pretended to be a good girl.

She even smiled through her tears and sniffed hopefully. Yegorov heaved a heavy sigh and spread his hands, pushing humanity away from him. “I can’t help it. Like, I know all your tricks.”

— Who is to blame, young lady, what do you lose? Of course, it was Sergeant Yegorov’s fault. Who else? I can’t give you my own, sorry, it’s running low.

— I have the right to one free call! You have official phone numbers in the department…

“Yeah, we’ve seen enough Hollywood. And we have here, young lady, force majeure. The cable must have been chewed out by rats.

— Damn, I have a schoolboy child who is not fed at home. And he needs to prepare for the Unified State Exam. Do you understand that?”

— All I know, young lady, is that I kept you late at night, when all the obedient children have to go bye-bye. And I recommend you also buy-by. As they say, the morning of the evening is more complicated. Here in the morning Figeev will come, and talk to him about establishing communication with the outside world and organizing meals for all those in need.

The woman gritted her teeth in frustration and howled again, trying to make the cop feel better. The sergeant just grinned.

— Well, at least give me a glass of hot tea — – the woman suddenly resigned herself, hugging her bare shoulders.

“You’re not supposed to!”

— I’m cold.” They don’t heat it here.

Yegorov calmly took a drag on his cigarette, thinking about something.

“No, they don’t, and they never have. So to speak, the old habits of 1937 are on the face. But it is not I who should be addressed, but the Gazprom shareholders who have laid pipes all over the Earth, from Port Arthur all the way to Lisbon, while forgetting about the simple Russian people languishing somewhere in the Lubyanka region. I can only buy you a cigarette, young lady, so to speak, for purely humane reasons. The 1931 Convention on the Treatment of Prisoners of War has not yet been repealed.

“Well, you’re a bastard, Yegorov.

— I know.

“Okay, give me a cigarette!”

He handed “Peter the Great” through the bars to a tearful woman with big warning letters reading “Smoking kills!” and she scratched out one of the cigarettes with her nervous fingers. In the dim light, Yegorov’s lighter flared up, and his satisfied voice was heard:

“That’s it…”

Now he could go quietly to his office and enjoy nostalgic philosophical debates alone with an open bottle of vodka and “iron” Felix. Without saying goodbye, the sergeant turned around, showing the woman his broad, indifferent back.

“Put out the bull-calf later, young lady, with your heel.

But the detainee stopped him suddenly.

— Yegorov, and Yegorov?! Do you have a wife?” I know you don’t.

FIFTEEN MINUTES, NO MORE

It was late in the evening. Nightingales were singing in the lilac trees. Their extraordinary singing excited the soul, set up a romantic mood. The sky was clear, with no clouds. The first stars were just beginning to appear on the horizon, and in their unfathomable glittering patterns, the familiar constellations were discernible. I stood for a long time at the city fountain with a bouquet of roses and waited for the lights of the looming high-rise buildings to start going out. My mysterious companion promised to come here around eleven and take me for a little walk in the square. That’s what she called a small leafy park located in the heart of the sleeping quarters.

“No more than fifteen minutes,” she said, setting out the main condition for our meeting. — We’ll get some fresh air before we go to bed and get to know each other better.”

I knew exactly what “getting to know each other” meant to me, and so did she. I’m sure she was looking forward to a fleeting adventure with no strings attached. After this meeting, we promised not to communicate again and forget each other. Then I planned to go to a friend’s house for some sabbath and demand that the banquet continue, so to speak, and she was going to go back to her husband and son and assume the hateful mask of wife and mother again. Everyone was happy with everything.

I looked at my watch. It was past eleven o’clock and my date still hadn’t arrived, but I didn’t give up hope, because I knew such women liked to be late for dates. Another half hour passed. My roses, without the life-giving power of love, began to wither noticeably, and out of boredom and impatience I began to brush them away from midges and night moths. In my mind’s eye, the mysterious image of my stranger would appear, and the desire to possess her would become unbearable. I imagined how we made love in the dark shade of the bushes, how she whispered obscenities to me, biting her earlobe until it hurt, and moaned softly under my gentle caresses, how passing people walking dogs, hearing a suspicious rustle in the darkness, avoided us.

The stranger did not come, and I, discouraged by her long absence, became visibly sad and slowly moved towards the nearby house, whistling something under my breath. My phone was silent, and I sometimes rebooted it, thinking that I had a problem with the connection. But it was all in vain! There were no messages from her, nothing, no hint. It’s like I’ve been played. Then I plopped down on a bench near the entrance and hung my head. I needed time to recover and think about my future plans.

But at that moment, the door of the entrance opened and a woman ran past me in tears, in whom I recognized yesterday’s stranger. She was very upset about something. I was startled. It was like a gust of cool, wet wind in dry weather. So refreshing and easy was her unexpected appearance. I watched her go, listened to the rustle of her flowing dress, and couldn’t believe my eyes. And what a miracle that out of the thousands of entrances surrounding me, I chose the only one where she lived?!

I jumped up as if I had been woken up and had not yet lost touch with the dream, and in a kind of fog I quickly followed her, afraid to frighten her away, like a night bird, while she practically flew over the ground, her heels softly clicking on asphalt crumbs past some playgrounds, parked cars and garbage cans. I felt dizzy. Barely discernible in the dim lamplight, the image of the stranger was so deliciously beautiful and heartfelt that I could even feel every bitter tear rolling down her cheek, and I also seemed to cry. Even the scarlet roses in my hands became animated, rose in petals and leaves, and reached out to this fleeting phenomenon of wet, loose hair, a sail skirt, and fresh perfume.

No, there was no more lust in me, no more stupid animality, and no more pronounced selfishness. All this strong impulse from her appearance seemed to have blown away all the dust of my sins and vices, and I, still washing my face with these tears of revelation, felt a quiet joy and at the same time a bottomless, overflowing compassion for her who had saved me. A believer will probably feel something similar after many days of fasting and merciless self-torment at the sight of the crucifixion in heaven, and I, a sinner, even felt shame for the demoniac that was in my soul before. Yes, I wanted to take advantage of her condition as a woman tired of marriage, who, hoping to find love on the side, sees nothing better than to take revenge on her husband with the first person she meets.

“Wait, wait, where are you going?” I called out, worried that I might lose sight of her.

The stranger started, as if shot, and stopped, as if remembering something. Then she turned to me and smiled at me through her tears.

“Oh, is that you…?” her lips whispered softly. — I thought you wouldn’t be waiting for me.” I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I even wanted to text you that everything was canceled, but then I decided that this would not be quite right. You don’t like text messages. Well, what do you stand for? Take my hand, lead me into this treacherous darkness. Now I am an obedient, fallen woman, the most obedient in the world, order me to sit down, I will sit down, order me to sing, I will sing, I am all in your power. Do you understand, do you understand? And this is not a joke. Only you don’t have more than fifteen minutes. Are you driving? Maybe it’s better to do it in the car?

I listened to her whisper like a death sentence, unable to resist or contradict her, and felt a shiver run through my whole trembling body. This beautiful, proud woman was now confessing her infinite obedience to me, but I still resisted the temptation. My warm heart fell in love with her as she is, as if she had come down from the crucifixion for all our sins and stretched out her merciful hands to us. I was shamefacedly silent, at a loss for words. She looked at me questioningly, genuinely not understanding why I was wasting precious time, and that mesmerizing whisper, so naturally and naturally falling from her lips, still seemed to rustle through the night leaves in the dark, inspiring me and at the same time making me lose my mind. Her pale face seemed to glow in the gloom, or perhaps it was tears, but I no longer understood what was happening to me, and for a little while I was even ready to fall on my knees and kiss the toes of her boots, begging for forgiveness. But I was afraid that such an act might be perceived by her as impertinence and even perversity, and therefore I did not find anything better than to hand her these red, bloody roses. The stranger took them carefully, and there was a pause between us, and I began to tell her, in a confused way, that I had come by metro and preferred a walk in nature to all this. She smiled bitterly again, held the flowers to her powdered nose, and thought for a moment. There was still a tear on her pale cheek, and I leaned down and licked it gently, feeling the salty taste of her heartache on my lips.

“I wonder if he’s watching us now.” “What is it?” she asked softly, pulling away slightly.

“Of course he sees everything,” I said, thinking that in such touching moments of our intimacy, she had decided to talk about God.

“If he’s watching, it’s just awful, awful,” she said excitedly. “So all this evil, all this vulgarity and abomination, which he so indifferently observes, is also on his conscience. He’s just as much an accomplice, yes, and even more of a criminal than you and I are.” — Let’s wait here for a few more minutes, maybe he’ll come down and stop this madness.”

“Yes, who are you talking about?” I was suddenly afraid.

I thought she was out of her mind. All the same, the nervous tension that Ono had carefully concealed all these years behind the playful gaze of an obedient coquette could not pass without a trace. I frowned, much to my shame, in fear, but the stranger suddenly laughed merrily, as if she had been playing tricks on me all the time, and I smiled back.

— I told my husband that I was going on a date with you. He didn’t believe me and asked me to buy some bread at the same time. So you still need to go to the bread shop.

She looked indignantly at the windows of the house where the lights were on, and then waved the roses in the air. I hesitated, waiting for a row. To be honest, I didn’t want to meet her husband, all this airy romance could end in a banal fight or a knife fight, but the woman, mistaking the alarm on my face for disappointment, calmed me down.

“Don’t worry, those fifteen minutes are all yours.

She took my hand herself, and we walked slowly and silently through the square. She had a warm, pleasant hand, and I noticed the ring on her finger, the same ring she used to wear when she cheated on her husband. This ring had a kind of magical charm for her at such times. This woman sincerely believed that by putting it on her ring finger, she becomes as if invulnerable to judgment, protected from the torments of conscience and all that usually happens to a person who lives by constant deception of people close to him. This ring was given to her a couple of years ago by her first lover, with whom she used to ride a bicycle in the evenings. The lover was sixty-two years old, a well-respected professor, with a goatee and curly sideburns, married, and an appreciation of decency and loyalty in women. He had a rheumatic wife, whom he assured me he was very fond of and always sent to sanatoriums for treatment. This professor wore thick-lensed glasses and could spend hours talking tirelessly about politics and science. He looked proud and knowledgeable. With the Obedient Stranger, he was also thinking about some worldly and complex things that she had never thought about before. But most often he said that a woman’s lot is a hearth and children, that a wife should obey her husband in everything, love him and forgive all his sins.

“A man can be forgiven for cheating. By nature, he is a hunter, a male, a warrior. He should always be in shape, and a daily evening bike ride with a beautiful woman like you will only do me good.

Oddly enough, but his wife approved of her husband’s hobbies in sports. Once she even invited an Obedient Stranger to visit to drink tea, so to speak, to talk about the painful, feminine. The professor at this time went to Spain for two weeks on a well-deserved business trip. An Obedient Stranger could have gone to Spain, but her visa was delayed. The professor’s avarice was to blame for everything. He did not want to pay an extra twenty Euros for mediation in obtaining a visa in a short time.

His wife was a sweet, elderly woman with a pained, somewhat martyred look in her large gray eyes. It had a very elongated skull, like a horse’s. When she listened to the other person, she tilted her head forward a little, and then others had an involuntary desire to feed her pieces of sweet sugar or cookies.

— Do you also like to ride a bike? — What is it? “she asked the Dutiful Stranger.

They were sitting together in the small kitchen, sipping tea and raspberry jam. The jam was delicious and healthy. The obedient Stranger carefully picked it up from the saucer with a small silver teaspoon and brought it to her lips, slowly tasting it.

“Not that I like it,” she answered honestly, squinting with pleasure, “but I like talking to Sergey Pavlovich. He’s a very interesting person.

— You think so?” The hostess smiled as she poured another cup of tea from a porcelain teapot, “But for me, Sergei Pavlovich is simply unbearable, terribly boring and arrogant. Oh, how arrogant he is! The other day he took me to the doctor, and someone in front of him was driving slowly, so he honked at him and swore like a shoemaker. I sat quietly and felt ashamed. By God, I even blushed with shame for Sergei Pavlovich. I do not know what he does at the university, but he just tortured the students, just tortured them. He is very demanding, strict with them, but also condescending. It always gives them a chance to improve. Some even come home to study with us. I turn a blind eye to this. She even said it as a joke once. Don’t mess up the girls. And he was angry: “Who do you take me for?. I have prostatitis, by the way.” Yes, yes, he has prostatitis. He’s suffering, oh, if you only knew how much he’s suffering, my dear… And his kidneys are sick, and his liver. Who likes to talk about their illnesses? I have rheumatism myself. Otherwise I would have kept you company.” You know, when I was little, I also rode a bicycle, but only then there were other bicycles, simple and reliable, and these… Every time after a walk he fixes it, then some gear will fall off, then the wheel will puncture, once he came home at night. I thought he wasn’t coming. I called all the morgues, and the police-the police we have with humor. Well, you know our local policeman Yegorov. They say that if he was a child, then this is one thing, but an adult can go anywhere he wants. Maybe he’s sitting in a bar, drinking, or having fun with his mistress. Yes, what are you, okstatsya! I tell them. Sergey Pavlovich hasn’t had a drink in forty years since our wedding. Well, if he is not a child on the passport, then he is definitely a boy at heart, yes, yes. Well, what kind of mistresses at his age, it’s even funny, young man, you may have a mistress, and he has a sixty-year-old wife and prostatitis… I tell him.

In general, with the approval of this nice, well-mannered woman, a bearded professor, usually in a tracksuit and a cap pulled over his head, and our heroine with loose brown hair, rolled around the city squares. Often she would pass her partner by a couple of meters and stay that way all the way. Sergei Pavlovich muttered something about serious things after her, while not forgetting to look at the women’s buttocks in tight leggings, shifting in the saddle. All this caused the professor to push harder and harder on the pedals, which is exactly what he did.

And when all this happened by itself, to pay off, or as a sign of gratitude, he gave her this ring. The cheapest with chrysolite. The dutiful Stranger accepted the keepsake and said goodbye. She didn’t enjoy this momentous relationship at all, except for the experience, which was not sexual, but rather moral. Also with this experience came the conviction that lovers should look for younger and not boring. But here, too, our heroine was burned by inexperience.

The young man she’d met through her in-laws had turned out to be quite good in bed, but quite infantile. Maxik, as everyone called him, was often touchy, tearful, and most importantly, unreliable. He made her jealous of his peers, often reproached her for seducing him, although, rather, it was the opposite. And as a result of all these clarifications, a period of suffering, torment, and some kind of spiritual vacillation began. The obedient Stranger suffered, realizing that instead of a courageous lover, she had acquired a second son for herself. She even gave him toys, dressed him as she wanted, and fed him in cafes and restaurants. And yet, at one point, she even wanted to kill herself, but at the last moment she changed her mind. She forgave him everything, threw herself at his feet and begged him not to leave her. All this was repeated and repeated, until naturally it turned into some kind of unhealthy feeling, and in the end, the young man was taken to the army, and she was treated with antibiotics for two months by a venereologist.

Then there was this social network. Someone called her an Obedient Stranger on the Internet, which suited her mood. For all men, she wanted to be both mysterious and obedient at the same time. She was quite adept at playing the role, pretending, acting, and playing pranks. Her photos, often erotic and provocative content, made a splash on the Internet. Popularity grew by leaps and bounds. Men and even women wrote her enthusiastic comments, tempted her with big money and offered meetings. At first, she didn’t want any adventures. Maybe she hoped that Maxik would come back to her after the army, matured and wiser, and she would be able to keep him, but in the meantime, she could have harmless fun posting intimate photos of herself online… In addition, she was going to file for divorce and even consulted with a lawyer on this issue. Her husband still didn’t notice the change in her, and she was already trying not to show it. She even became afraid that her husband would figure out everything and go to the secret page. She even became paranoid about it. It seemed to her that he had already guessed and was just pretending that nothing was happening. That he didn’t want to lose her, that even if he did find out, he’d try not to notice. Sometimes she tried to bring him to light, hinted to him about their adventures, but her husband was silent as a fish, and was blind as a mole.

— Where did you learn all this?’ — What is it? ‘he asked listlessly, looking at the TV.

He was sitting on the couch, watching football on TV. The dutiful Stranger had just buttoned up the fly of his trousers and got up from her lap. She honestly did not understand what you can find interesting in this sport, when two dozen adult men run around the field and chase the ball. And yet others are watching it and yelling and shouting like crazy, happy and sad when the ball crosses the cherished line. An obedient Stranger still understood the theater or a bicycle tour, but so that football… It was all very upsetting for her. She glanced at her husband again. There was a bottle of beer and two glasses on the coffee table in front of him. A torn pack of crackers lay nearby.

“How pathetic and stupid he is,” thought the Obedient Stranger. — I’ve just done it to him, and he’s still watching the match and drinking beer, as if nothing has happened.”

— So where did you learn all this stuff?” Still, he repeated the question as he handed her the glass he’d poured and almost didn’t look up from his football.

“Learned what?” She mimicked him as she sat down next to him.

She suddenly felt disgusted and disgusted to be around her husband, to breathe the same air as him, to raise the same son together. The whole thing suddenly tasted horribly disgusting, and even his sticky seed in her mouth triggered a sickening reflex, and she quickly washed down the unpleasant taste with a cool beer.

“Well… that’s…” the husband hesitated, watching the game intently. “No, look at what they’re doing!

— Don’t you like it?’ ‘What is it?’ she asked, deliberately angry. ‘They taught me.

The wife hoped that her husband’s previously unknown free-spirited audacity would lead them both to the long-awaited explanation, that he would let it slip and say that he knew more about her than he should. Then she would show him all her cards, too, and they would decide what to do next. Living a lie was becoming unbearable for her. She didn’t know how to rouse him, how to shake him so that he would think for a moment and understand how much she was suffering. But my husband was watching football. After all, their son together was twelve years old, and twenty more years of boring marriage. Yes, he didn’t mind trying to diversify his sex life with her, especially since everything was already fine there. She seemed to be getting her orgasm faster in bed, and he was already taking credit for it.

“The main thing is that without fanaticism,” he thought to himself, “yes, and an adult son in the next room. That’s not even the point. I earned the right to rest, I came home from work, ate and here’s a football and a bottle of wine. This was discussed, I think, for about two weeks. Well, if she wants to do it, let her do it. What do I care? I never objected to her. Now she says that she decided to do yoga, but let her do it, even if she shoots from a bow, and how much underwear she bought, she scored a whole wardrobe, and, by the way, this is a lot of money, I change my underwear once a year, and I think I also have a new hairstyle. Or not?”

The husband glanced at his wife and drained his glass.

“Yes, how did I forget, she went to the beauty salon the other day… or was it last month?”

— Watch your football, why are you looking at me like that? “What is it?” she asked, and gave her husband her half — finished glass.

He took it without looking at it and drank it down in one gulp. His heart was beginning to tingle and his head was beginning to ache. So he sat down comfortably on the sofa and adjusted the small pillow behind his back.

“A good wife is the one who leaves her husband to finish her glass,“he decided.

She smiled wickedly.

— I just don’t want to get drunk.” I have a date in the yard right now.

— Well, well… — my husband did not believe me. — I suppose you’ve decided to go cycling with that barmaley again?”

“What are you doing? Sergey Pavlovich is in the past, and besides, he’s not my type. Do you remember that strange guy who was sitting at the next table when we were at the mall?

— Painfully I need to watch out for all the males twirling around your skirt… — the husband grinned and suddenly pressed himself into the sofa.

On the TV, the fans ' stands howled. The commentator was commenting something absurd. She didn’t understand why people were cheering.

— By the way, the guy who sold us the bottle wasn’t a guy at all, but a woman. You’re completely lying, honey, and you don’t notice what’s going on around you. For you, work comes first. You’ve been waiting for a promotion for the last ten years, and you’re glad as hell you didn’t get fired last month for absenteeism.

— Have mercy, but there was an emergency at work, the pipes burst, it was urgent to save the goods, and the chief ordered everyone to come. This is a normal occurrence. And I, by the way, physically could not. You know why. How was he supposed to explain my absence? What your wife won’t let you out of the house?

— You could have climbed over the neighbors ' balcony, eventually using persuasion or even force to take my keys.

“Well, yes, well, yes… beliefs… will you convince me… That’s for sure. Oh, shit! What are they doing!

And the husband shrank back into the sofa and clutched his head. From the TV screen, the howl of the heated stands could be heard again, turning into a long and joyful” Goooll!!!”.

“I’m terribly stuffy in here,” his wife suddenly raised her voice. “Do you understand?” And it’s not good to keep yourself waiting.

— Well, well… also tell me that he is waiting for you right now at the entrance — – the husband grinned, tensely watching the counterattack of his team.

“Look out the window.”

— I’ll still be looking out the window… an important bird.” You should invite him home to us or something… we need to meet on the Elbe sometime, otherwise it’s even becoming indecent.

“You shouldn’t be being sarcastic, honey. I’ll just invite you. But you’ll probably freak out.

— Why am I freaking out?”

— I think you’ll freak out.”

My wife got up from the sofa, went to the mirror and began to apply makeup, looking at her reflection.

— So what are you going to do?” My husband muttered to himself.

My wife picked up her lipstick and held it to her lips.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly, “I promised him that I would fulfill all his wishes. What he tells me, I’ll do. Like that.

— And how happy are you to be a goldfish?” My husband asked, crunching a cracker apetitically.

Now he had convinced himself that his wife was deliberately trying to provoke a fit of jealousy in him, and he chuckled to himself. A cracker stuck in my throat at the wrong time. The man cleared his throat and reached for his glass, hoping it would help.

“Adies,” his wife said, kissing him on the forehead. — I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, don’t be bored.”

He waved her off as if she were an annoying fly.

“Only fifteen minutes, no more!” He shouted over the TV. “Buy some bread at the same time.

— Shh, my son is sleeping! He has a test tomorrow — " his wife put her index finger to her lips.

She bent down to put on her boots. The lightning jammed, but then it gave way.

IF YOU’LL EXCUSE ME, I’LL DO EVERYTHING MYSELF

She was practically shaking with anger and the smug irony her husband exuded. Tears welled up in her eyes as she clawed at the elevator doors, hurrying them open to escape into the unknown. She didn’t care what this man did to her. She was ready to satisfy his lust without hesitation or remorse. She didn’t want to go home at all. It was as if the house had ceased to exist for her at that moment. It was no longer her fortress, her refuge, where she could feel safe. She was shaking from her husband, from his touch and embrace, from what she had just done with him. Now there were strangers living in her house, and even her son, who seemed to be her own boy, was hated by her only because he looked like her husband. Just as indifferent, just as gluttonous and stubborn. Husband, husband, husband, she suddenly wanted to kill him, but not just to take his life, but so that he would suffer before that, so that he would realize the full extent of his crime against her. It was he, as she believed, who was responsible for her downfall, it was he who threw her into the abyss of debauchery, cruelly humiliated and insulted her feminine nature.

“I wanted bread! Look at you! Well, never mind, you’ll have bread and butter! she said through gritted teeth. ‘I wish he was jealous, I wish he’d run after her.’ No, he’s lying on the couch and laughing. And, by the way, it’s almost night, and you never know what can happen.”

Running out of the elevator and down the stairs, her heels clattering loudly, the Obedient Stranger put the cherished ring on her finger on the move. Now she was invulnerable and invisible. No one had the right to reproach her.

“Lord, Lord, save and preserve us!” her lips whispered, and her heart beat painfully and wistfully in her chest.

Rushing out of the entrance, she did not immediately notice the man sitting on the bench. Then, when he called out to her and their eyes met, she silently called him Lord. However, she called so all her lovers from the Internet, with whom she decided to meet for cheating on her husband recently.

Perhaps this one was a little strange, too vulnerable and somehow correct. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he was pretty enough for one evening, with a tearful look in his eyes, and he was wearing some kind of black Chinese jacket. When he got up, he was tall and slightly stooped. His eyes were kind and inviting, and they looked straight into the soul. Nothing escaped that searching gaze. He seemed to see right through her and understand a lot. Such a person did not need to confess or even repent, he did not have to offend, deceive.

“Oh, is that you…?” — What is it? “she asked wearily.

Just like at the mall, he was wearing an old-fashioned hat that was surprisingly well suited to his strange Chinese jacket with shiny buttons. The obedient Stranger noticed at once that the Sovereign never removed his headdress under any circumstances, and only in the first moments of greeting did he respectfully push this crushed hat onto his forehead. His boots were shiny, too, and they looked clean and well-groomed in all weathers. No dirt stuck to them, even when he walked through puddles. In the eyes of the woman who was peacefully contemplating him, throughout the entire walk, he remained a kind of refined aesthete, intelligent, exemplary, of rare noble blood, if only a little crushed by life. She noticed that he had a slight limp on his left leg, and she admitted to herself that he needed a cane with an artistically carved head to complete the picture.

“Old wounds,” he said, as if apologizing to her. “I fell from a great height. In one Israeli clinic, they are trying to restore the joint, but I don’t dare yet.

He also had one notable detail that the Dutiful Stranger kept thinking about. The man was wearing loose trousers, and there, in the causal place, he clearly had something heavy hanging out and indecently sticking out. Some women were undoubtedly confused and even frightened by this, others found it funny, but there were also those who, in their criminal curiosity, even wanted to check out what he was hiding there and how it worked. In any case, he behaved with women confidently, with dignity, gave them a chance to speak out and never was impertinent. The master was tall and slightly plump, with a clean-shaven face and a slow, rather innate grace that belied his old-fashioned, faded hat.

They walked hand in hand along the path of the square, away from the light of houses and street lamps. She clutched the red roses to her chest so that the night’s draft wouldn’t damage them, and she pulled him forward, and he seemed to stop her, not in a hurry at all, even though he knew that he was very limited in time.

“What a lovely night,” he sighed sadly, squeezing her hand. — I’ll never forget you!”

There was a crazy twinkle in his eyes. He liked the square. Under the treetops, everything was silent, everything was lost… Along the alley along which the Lord and the Obedient Stranger were walking, there were spreading lime trees. The air was cool and crisp. It smelled of lilac, mown grass, and damp fog. Sometimes they met dog walkers who had arrived late. Their offspring were on short leashes, their collars flashing in the dark, having had their fill of exercise, at peace, trudging with their tongues hanging out to their home-made stew. But for some reason, many of them showed aggression towards the Lord. When they met, they would start growling, bristling, trying to pounce on him and even bite him. Their owners did not understand anything and apologized, barely restraining their crazy pets.

— Why do dogs dislike you so much?” — the Obedient Stranger smiled, pointing to the lapdog, foaming with rage. “Even this pretty girl seems to care about you.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed that attitude a long time ago…” the Lord replied when they were past the danger. — I think it’s from loneliness.”

“From loneliness?” — What is it? “his companion asked, batting her eyelashes naively.

— Yes, I am very lonely in my life. I don’t really trust anyone, unfortunately… And loneliness, as you know, makes a man a beast. So the dogs react.

“Let’s turn off the alley, then,” the woman suggested. — I don’t want my Lord to be killed by a rabid Bug in front of me.”

They had indeed turned off the alley and were almost groping their way into the darkness, pushing aside the branches of bushes and trees.

“Through the thorns to the stars,” the Lord grinned, holding up his hat with one hand.

Soon the couple came to a low red brick wall. It was a monument preserved from Soviet times, in the form of a rocket, as if flying out of the bowl of the pool. The aluminum sheets had apparently been stolen by colormet hunters, and now all that was left of her was a rusty metal frame. In the moonlight, it resembled the outline of the Eiffel Tower. The water was about half full in the bowl. It smelled like mud. The obedient Stranger had even once seen the boys sitting there with fishing rods and catching something. The authorities had long promised the residents of the area to restore order, but the case did not start from the dead end, and while frogs croaked and ducks swam here.

At this skeleton, the Lord suddenly embraced the Stranger and kissed her. She didn’t resist, she had been waiting for this for a long time, and she put her arms around the man’s shoulders, touching his face, and closed her eyes. He was taller than she was, and she seemed to be hanging on to him, bending her knee for comfort and elegantly lifting it back with the heel up.

— So you’re really obedient?’ — What is it? ‘he asked, undoing the top few buttons of his jacket.

The dutiful Stranger smiled knowingly. She had condoms in her purse just in case. It seemed to her that the Lord hesitated, and she snuggled up to comfort him.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll do it myself.”

Now she was ready to give herself to this man, and she wanted to feel a little like him, as if to love him for a moment, to feel his kind heart. In a way, she liked him as a man. Not rough, neat, with a certain amount of respect and calmness. She was obviously not calm enough, deep down she was worried, worried, sometimes looking around, afraid that someone would notice them. Even though it was dark here by the pond, the light from the lanterns still filtered through the trees, and their silhouettes could be seen from the road. The obedient Stranger was two heads shorter. She looked at her Master with a look of complete humility and even fear, as a traveler caught in a field looks at the stormy black sky.

— I’ll do whatever you ask.” But please note that we don’t have much time. I have to be home in ten minutes.

He grinned and put a rough hand to her pointed, upturned chin. Then his thumb brushed her wet lips, slid into her parted mouth, and the Obedient Stranger sucked on it like a sweet lollipop. This aroused him, but for a moment he enjoyed the fatigue of her pale face, and she, willing to obey his will and hidden desires, only closed her eyes.

“Don’t feel sorry for me, don’t…,” she whispered in sweet anticipation. “Do whatever you want with me…”

“Good,” he sighed, smiling contentedly. — First, I want to see your complete submission!”

“Order me, order me… but please don’t hesitate.”

The man in the hat thought for a moment, feeling the Obedient Stranger tremble in his arms with impatience to do his bidding.

— Then destroy your account! he said suddenly. — I want you to belong to me and no one else at this moment…”

The woman opened her eyes, searching the dark shape of her Master. No, he wasn’t joking and waited sternly, his brow furrowed. His face was hard and haughty. It was obvious that he had also entered into his own image. Then, without hesitation, she unzipped her purse and silently tossed her precious iPhone over her shoulder. There was a splash of water behind her, startling the frogs, and then all was still, except for the distant sounds from the road. The Lord looked at her with admiration. He could see that her face didn’t move a muscle. No sign of regret. With such unquestioning determination, if he had just given a woman a knife and ordered her to stab her own mother, she would have done it without a second thought.

“Not every man can do that,” he complimented the Dutiful Stranger and immediately encouraged her with a kiss on the lips.

This kiss was very important to her. She lost herself for a moment under his caresses, and the roses fell from her weak hands and scattered on the grass.

— I am all on fire, I am at your mercy, “she trembled, her breathing quickened, and she clung tremblingly to her Master. — Just please don’t make me throw my boots out to the frogs!”

THE CURSED SCISSORS

By nature, Sergeant Yegorov, both in life and in work, preferred not to beat around the bush, but to lay out the whole truth-the uterus for purity, although he often greatly exaggerated the colors. Of course, the “hangers” and unsolved cases under his supervision were enough, but sometimes he was struck by his unique ability to grab onto some completely invisible thinnest thread and “spin” the dodgy criminal so that he himself was in shock. Colleagues at work were only amazed at how easily he “cracks” even tough nuts.