Sergey Voronin
Son of God Ra
Childhood
I was born on a sunny June morning in a small, very cozy Siberian town, spread out on the left bank of the majestic Ob. My mother tried to get rid of the burden for a long time, but I, apparently anticipating the future vicissitudes of Destiny, stubbornly did not want to leave the warm, sheltered place. "Probably, we'll have to impose a" paw "," said obstetrician Sergeev gloomily, with the ominous smile of Dr. Goebbels approaching the table, on which lay obstetric forceps, called "paw" in professional jargon. His words definitely had an effect on me, and I hastened to leave the shelter which had become painful to my native people, announcing the world about its emergence as a thin, disgusting squeak. And even then, according to statistics, about 90% of the cases of using the "paw" end with a birth trauma and dementia of the child. This is clearly not included in my and the Creator's plans.
Roddom number 2 in Barnaul, where this "space" event happened, is still in the center of the city. To the left, the maternity house adjoins the chic, very beloved city dessert shop "Lakomka", on the right - with the city morgue and the adjacent morphological corps of the medical institute. The architect, conceiving this existential architectural composition, seems to have been a great philosopher, giving the mothers the opportunity to watch the sad picture of death day after day from the hospital window and think about the frailty of human existence. As I understood much later, it was under the sign of the earthly pleasures symbolized by Gourmand, and the constant sense of death that did not frighten, but it always caused almost morbid curiosity and mystical respect, and whose presence, like the sword of Damocles, I constantly felt by everyone Fibers of the soul, and my whole life will pass. "Memento mori" - remember death, "said the ancient Romans, and how right they were! Only the finitude of being causes mankind to slowly, but still move forward. If the Lord suddenly, for fun, decided to give Man immortality, He would condemn the world to eternal stagnation and absolute chaos. Death is the eternal engine, the universal source of progress, with the ingenious perspicacity given to the Creator by our perishable world.
My childhood was cloudless and quite happy. My parents were upset only by the fact that I grew up in an incredibly frail "tree", in which it is not known what and how the soul flickered. I could not eat for days, at the same time I was always the ringleader of all boyish companies, games and fights. Surprisingly, but more anti-child than I, I did not have to meet in my life. In me, as if, there was a little imp, making me constantly make disgusting people around me and arrange minor provocations, for which I, quite legitimately, received a neck from my older comrades, but the lessons of education were short enough - bruises and abrasions did not have time to come off, As I started another dirty trick. In general, the old woman Shapoklyak has always been for me an incredibly attractive way and almost a native being. Some of my children's actions still cause me a feeling of burning shame, as if I did it yesterday.
The fact is that as a child I was a pathological nonsense. By provoking the guys and bursting into conflicts, I immediately ran to complain to my father, who always had a tough temper. This was inevitably followed by the father's "vendetta", about which legends went about in the yard. Boyish folklore from mouth to mouth handed over "legends" in which the glorious Batman "Papa Edik", then working as an investigator of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, arranged a stand shooting from the gun in the park of the Melanzhevy Combine for a running wild boar, whose role was successfully performed by the retarded son of our locksmith 33 apartments in Lenya. And although the bullets from Makarov's pistol only whistled over the head of poor Leni, cutting off the birch twigs like machetes, the rumor about the heroic exploits of the home-grown Batman quickly spread from the VRZ area to the Housing Square - these two historically conflicting territories of Barnaul, as well as in the well-known American Musical "West Side Story". I do not know if this fact really existed, but my father refuses to do this in every possible way, but the event had an undoubted positive effect - I was afraid and my father respected. And here again my nasty, rotten nature was manifested. Instead of "resting on my laurels," peacocking my tail and enjoying life, I rushed with renewed vigor to carry out new provocations and dirty tricks, forcing the guys to beat me, despite the fear of retribution. And again, the usual scheme has worked: the child is offended, the slanderer runs to his father, another "vendetta". My father's patience was already over and before each "special operation" he "imposed" on my full program already to me, expressing thereby a vexation that through the efforts of his son turned into Frankenstein - a scarecrow for the whole court. And the guys finally boycott me. This was the first boycott in my life, which made a very strong impression on me. Until now, from this boycott, I had a feeling of cold and oppressive loneliness. And the reason was the following event.
In the neighborhood with us in 35 apartments (and we lived at the address Komsomolsky Ave., house 132, apartment 34) lived the family of the hereditary builder Victor Epifanov. He had two children: Lena, my same age, and Sergei, older than me for 2 years, which according to children's standards is a very significant difference. Lena Epifanova - my first love - the first aching and joyful feeling without any admixture of sexuality; The real quintessence of Love achieved by boys only at an early age - from the kindergarten "Snegirek",
