My black person again appeared, and I got into his car. I knew, he brings me back in the chasm. There was a day - sun shone. I thought of death. The sky burst, and started a heavy rain. The rain with a continuous veil over the road, and again - nothing visible. There is nobody to ask about the way.

No, there is. On the road there is a person waves with his hand. We stopped.

The person was drunk, and to learn from him about anything is a lost case. The door is open, drunk seized it and doesn't release. I try to slam the door. The rain fills the car. The man shakes and doesn't speak, but creaks:

- “Well, what is with you?.. Take me. I stand here and becoming wet.”

The words made me laugh. Really, while I thought of death, I didn't notice that there is a living person and he feels bad, he becomes wet in the rain. We are in the car, and he - on the street. We gave a lift to him to his place.

It became silent, and again a song, and again Volodya's voice:

“I stood, expecting an angel in the forehead!

And further I don't remember... FLOOD!”

I regained my consciousness among the geysers on the same hillock. The black person disappeared. Strange, I got used to him and even missing him. In my hands I had a notebook. I opened. Hmm, I forgot at all... That is Irina, the daughter Aina, gave to me this notebook as a keepsake. Why did it appear here among these strange geysers?

On the first page of the book there were some records. I show them without change.

“My highest divine "I" directs me in everything I am engaged in.

Richard Bach, "Jonathan Livingstone Seagull".

If you didn't comprehend truth it doesn't stop being a truth.

Important only that is created from truth and pleasure, but not from metal and glass.

“This book of Richard Bach works at once in two directions. It conveys me a feeling of flight and returns my youth.” - Ray Bradbury.

To the true Johnathan - Seagull, living in each of us:

- life's purpose is a search of perfection;

- the aim of each of us - as much as possible to approach the own manifestation in himself, in own state and way of action;

- perfection can't have fakes.”

I read these lines and broke into tears. The earth under me became wet. A streamlets of tears began to flow to the geysers. A snake hissing was heard. It seemed that round the hillock there thousands of snakes are sitting, coiling in a wild dance, intertwining and untwining and hiss on me. But they can't come nearer.

What a geysers! What kind of water in them?

As a Gospel, I opened the book of Aina at random and loudly began to read:

“From hooliganism up to fascism the distance is shorter than a sparrow nose.” - Maxim Gorky.

“Any decent person is always powerless against villainy...”

“It is possible to win against rascals only by reciprocal meanness, but not everyone is capable of it, and the rascals always take into account the noble powerlessness of others...”

“Therefore I love weapons: an aim taken at a rascal reminds me a crushed toad.”

Valentin Pikkul, "Wealth",
"Soviet Writer".,
1975 г., с. 405

“What it such meanness in a superlative degree?”

“When a rascal with his sophisticated professionalism represents as a rascal the one at whom considerably mocked, besides in a group option.

It is especially indicative when some group of yokels swindlers, from category of the most low-standard beings, together attack one woman, whom ruthlessly deceived by a grandiloquent literature about rescue from moral falling.

In a pursuit of implementation of their greedy interests, continuously scooping from the boundless arsenal of meanness, these geeks of society forgot about a most elementary humanity. And that they tirelessly wagging their tongues about mercy and humanity, using some verbal equilibristics and expressions in refined forms, - even this isn't save for a iota in their black-black affairs.

At the same time their ability to get into a citadel of humanity and mercy itself, where they create a humanity with the return sign - is incomprehensible for human mind.

Everything rotted through and more deeply. Everything is so dirtied that there is no place to put a foot.

And here I remembered by analogy as I was especially shocked by that what I read in "GULAG" of Solzhenitsyn, as the prisoners were suddenly expelled on a street to do their needs, for what the square, on which already a foot couldn't be put was selected.”

Further, on the following page:

“The one who got used to give during all his life - having difficulty to ask.”

Then her plans: To publish

the novel "Children of Earth",
11 volume of collected works,
the novel "The Road of Life",
"The Voices of Friends",
"In the Paradise of Albion",
"Three Weeks in France",
"An anti-story",
"A Murder in Violet Dawn"...

I read and sobbed at the top of my voice, so loudly that hissing has stopped, and the geysers closed their mouths. Gradually they stopped gushing forth, and a lot of black dirty water was formed.

Through the tears I see some last records of Aina:

"That is soo painful that such a large number of "The Wreaths Nature" degraded...".

Georgy Tovstonogov told: "The most important in life - to be a human, but that is very difficult".

I want to add: for someone it is impossible, but someone simply can't differently as only to be a human.


I WANTED TO BRING SOMEONE TO CLEAR WATER, BUT THERE WAS NO CLEAR WATER...


I closed the book, I understood everything. From the very beginning she was on the ship. I perfectly remember her, a blond grandmother, a fuzz with a light soul, with a kind smile. And she perished. That's really is - I lost one person from my team, the best PERSON.

With rage I looked at the died geysers. It was equal to me what will become with me. I decided to comb this chasm up and down and to bring it to order..

When I return I will find some friends, and surely we will publish the books of your bellowed, you hear, Aina! There should be in Russia some noble and real people. There will be in Moscow Jean Griva's Museum. Love doesn't disappear completely. Everything happens, only I need to understand what it means to love human.