A. Belyaev - Classics fantasy – 11

© A. Belyaev, 2019

ISBN 978-5-0050-1140-4 (т. 11)

ISBN 978-5-0050-0936-4

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

1. Black and white

– Again the cat behind a wall myauchit – Ignat Bugaev told, quickly looking through production schedules of power plant.

The cleaner of the Guryev hotel for visitors did not understand a joke and seriously answered:

– This is not a cat. This is your neighbor Jim Jolie plays the Hawaiian guitar.

– Black?

– Yes, Black. It arrived to us from America recently. Music does not disturb you? I can tell…

– No, Ashime, music does not disturb me … – Bugaev thoughtfully drummed thick fingers according to schedules, then quickly got up, left in a corridor and knocked in the next number. The crying, mewing sounds of a guitar stopped.

– Enter! – the melodious tenor was heard.

In the middle of the room, with the lowered guitar in the left hand, there was Black Jim of Jolie. It was high growth, is healthy and young. The collar of an apache plaid shirt and sleeves sprained above elbows opened a dark mighty breast and the athlete’s muscles.

– Allow to get acquainted, the companion – said in English Bugaev. – I am an inspector of the high-voltage line, the engineer Ignatiy Bugaev.

Eyes of the Black still longed, and full lips developed in a hospitable smile, and dazzling-white teeth already sparkled. Jim gave a hand, and Bugaev noticed that the palm was much lighter than his dark hand.

– I am very glad to get acquainted. Jim of Jolie. Worker. The emigrant – the Black answered.

– You not absolutely justify the surname, the companion – Bugaev told. – Jolie – cheerful, noisy, live. And your eyes and your guitar long. About what? About the homeland? About the girl with a flower on a breast?

They took seat at an open window. Jim thoughtfully looked at the sea, on far smoky yarn of trawlers, at the plumose clouds lit with decline purple. His dark fingers already touched on a guitar string habit. And to the accompaniment of a silent, sad song he began to speak about himself. Bugaev listened to words and unfamiliar motive. Strange music with the breaking rhythm explained untold. “These syncopes – Bugaev thought – say more words. Jim left ‘an old rhythm’ and did not enter new… Loneliness? Yes, of course, and loneliness. Jim is similar to the plant postponed for others soil. Botanists call it ‘introduction’. Introduktsionnye of a plant probably too have to have nostalgia – homesickness…”

Jim of Jolie worked in North America at cannery in Kaye-Vest, or Key West, as he told. It is the most southern part of the Florida peninsula. Beyldon and Son cannery. Big there was a business. Over hundred million dollars. Crisis ate. From year to year production was reduced. Jim was the good worker, and he was held up to the end. And the end was is as follows: Beyldon and the son not only closed case, but also broke the plant – appear, easier to sell the empty site. But nobody bought it. On ruins of the plant the “cave” settlement of the unemployed was formed. Ate fish who was caught. Wore the last rags. And is farther what?

Jim dreamed of a trip to the USSR long ago, as well as his many companions. But all of them did not have enough funds for the road. Perhaps, there was not enough also determination. And Jim had it. And here three friends of Jim put the pennies with his small savings and equipped him to the road. It was the stork not only friendly solidarity, but also calculation: having settled in the USSR, Jim would send money for the road to one of “shareholders”, that after arrival to the USSR – to the following, and so – so far all “shareholders” will not get over on the new homeland.

– Here and all short history of a long way from Key West to Huryef – smiling finished Jolie.

– Not Huryef, but Guryev – Bugaev corrected. – And what you want to do?

– Canned food – Jim answered, publishing a finale on a guitar.

– To me specified this city. I did not know the USSR. But you have other fish, other methods of processing here. It is necessary to be retrained. I should go to Vladivostok. Crabs – my specialty. But it is a long way again, and on a trip I have no means any more.

– And you have no other specialty? – Bugaev asked.

Jim of Jolie shrugged shoulders:

– I worked in Charleston at buildings. When crisis suspended construction, it was necessary to pass into the food industry. Thought that it is more right: people can cease to build, but is not.

– And it turned out that they can cease and eat? – having grinned Bugaev told. It had a dense bass, and Jolie even shuddered when Ignat suddenly loudly asked:

– You are able to knead concrete?

– It was necessary.

– Perfectly, Jim, perfectly! You will be a concreter. I was written by Vera Kolosova… If you accompany me on your guitar, Jolie, I can recite to you verses fairy tales on the blue-eyed girl who lives very far, in the midnight region. It is similar to the ice queen. – Jim smiled. – But as you do not play, I continue to speak rough prose. It civil engineer. And now builds the wonderful building in which of polar cold will do heat and light.

– It is similar to the fairy tale too – Jim told.

– When you closer get acquainted with our country, you will see that we have many such fairy tales of life. Yes, so about Vera. She wrote me that it on building does not have enough concreters. Allow me to bring you as a gift to Vera Kolosova.

Jim burst out laughing.

– I am afraid that she will not thank you for such gift. I will go with you, companion Bugaev. But I would like to know what the ice country is and what the magic factory for processing of cold in heat is.

– We still will have time to talk. So far I have to warn about one: it is the country of ice, cold, blizzards, a gloom. After solar Florida such country, perhaps, will seem you hell. Think properly.

– From there is mail to America?

– Well, certainly. There is both mail, and telegraph, and radio.

Jim slapped up to Bugaev’s palm the palm.

– Means, on hands. A point – Ignat in Russian finished.

2. Live card

Jim with interest observed a small cabin of the airship. Jolie never before was necessary to fly on airships. Below – Bugaev’s bed, over it – a suspended bed of Jim with a high grid, as in cribs. Walls are fitted by blue leatherette with imprinted flowers. The external wall is slanted to a floor, in a wall – a low, but wide window. Curtains. At a window – the small little table laid by a white cloth before a table – two stools from dural pipes. Anything superfluous. Light-, warmly, perhaps, even hot. But it is not stuffy. The small propeller freshener works at a little table. In a corner the fan buzzes. As in hot day in the field bumblebees and bees. And against the background of this hum pleasant music – a waltz from the opera “Eugene Onegin”. Radio… Drives at a dream. Jim closes eyes and sees is dense – blue open spaces of the Gulf of Mexico, the Guryev trawlers… and ahead of it the unknown country of ices and blizzards which he never saw in life expects…

Jim stirred up the head and looked in a window. Steppe. The shadow of the airship runs on the ground. The infinite chain of support of high-voltage transfer leaves afar. On the horizon the lake shines, the woods become blue. The airship flies several days low above the ground. How many was replaced pictures in these hours of flight! Fields, waterless steppes, woods, deserts and again woods. The farther on the North, the their becomes more. And everywhere – in steppes, deserts, even in the woods among long wide glades – busy tractors, trucks, cranes, derrik, trolleys, engines… Whole regiments and battalions of workers… Day after day, step by step people win desert spaces, carry out channels, construct roads, cut through glades in the woods… What persistence! What tension! Ahead – the primitive nature, a solitude, the woods; behind – roads, settlements, the plants, the cities.