It is clear that with such wonderful teachers at the final examinations in mathematics and the Russian language, you could not particularly worry. And so it happened - Vera Gavrilovna started the finished solution of the problem in the rows, and Elsa Grigorevna in her composition autographically placed the missing punctuation marks. But with the exam in physics came a complete "bummer"!
On the eve of the physics exam, I decided to relax and, despite a warning on the radio about high solar radiation (in Karaganda there was constantly monitoring the ultraviolet associated with the activities of Baikonur), went to sunbathe the lake in the city park. The result of this adventure did not take long to come-I received a very palpable dose of solar radiation with symptoms typical of her, so that the next morning I hardly managed to get up and, like a zombie, sadly wandered to the ill-fated exam.
Truly, the "starry" hour of the physic has arrived. She did not enter into the state of my, frankly, much shaky health (too much was her antipathy towards me) and decided to finally "break away" in full. As I remember now, I got on the ticket the principle of the generator. And after all, like, I was teaching, but in my sick head now felt an absolute "Torricelli emptiness". In general, my answer at the exam was very reminiscent of the well-known anecdotal situation, when the teacher asks the student: "How does the generator work?" "Uh-uh!" - buzzed the resourceful student. "All right, you can go, you're free!" The physicist said gloomily. "Is this" deuce" (2)?" I asked indifferently. "Well, why did you say the first question of the ticket for the" three" (3)?" I left the audience and, completely lost, wandered home. Strange, but the "troika" (3) in physics in the certificate did not upset me at all, there was only a slight annoyance at myself - after all, I taught this damn physics in the "sweat of my face", and the result still exceeded all my expectations! When I got home, I collapsed, as if it had been knocked down, on the bed and briefly forgot a painful dream. I woke up from the fact that the apartment doorbell rang. I opened the door - Lilya Rain stood on the threshold. "Seryozha, my mother sent for you, so you went to retake physics, you are already waiting!" - she said. Elsa Grigorievna, as always, again acted as my Savior and with great difficulty agreed with the physicist about the retake of my ill-fated "troika" (3). As she did not frown, she did not puff in displeasure, but still this obstinate woman did not dare to go against the teachers' team (Voronin will leave, and she still has to work and work there) and was forced to put me this exhausted "four" (4).
The day of our separation was approaching, as Novikov liked to say, "a trio of bandura players from the city of Odessa." I already had a ticket for the plane to Barnaul exactly the day after the prom. Our last school evening was held in a quiet, almost family atmosphere, with the parents of graduates, champagne and dancing until the morning, a night walk "a la nostalgia" with classmates and Elsa Grigorievna in the Botanical Garden. My mother could not come for the evening, because at this time, together with his former colleagues, my father was engaged in moving from our posh two-bedroom apartment to a two-room "Khrushchev" on Diesel Street near the station. This unequal exchange mom started in order to somehow save the Karaganda apartment for the family. The fact is that the main reason for the transfer of his father to a new duty station in Khabarovsk was his very serious interpersonal conflict with the chief of the Karaganda school of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of the USSR, General Besenov, a rare tyrant and "maramoy" (that is, a marasmus in prison jargon), although the deceased And do not say bad. Besenov, to somehow annoy Voronin - the eldest, gave a command to his "six" to take away from his family a three-room apartment, once provided to us by this famous police institution in Karaganda. But the idea was not successful: and even then say that the well-known Kazakh sluggishness and natural dullness of the nomads of Polish passionarity and my mother's ingenious ingenuity can oppose everything! She very quickly agreed with her colleagues - musicians who with great pleasure gave us their "half-burglary" "Khrushchev", operatively, until we changed our minds, having entered our luxurious apartments. The only problem was that when I left for the graduation party, I did not specify the address of our new apartment on Diesel Street with my mother. For more than two hours, thoroughly tired after a night vigil, I wandered like a shadow near the station, finally getting lost in the gray five-story buildings, until finally I happened to see my mother taking out the garbage from our new home. Going into the "killed" "bohemian" tenants "kopeck piece", thoroughly soaked with foreign smells, I immediately went to bed and slept through a deep sleep until the evening. The next
