Son of God Ra (part 1)

"Do you still have dengi?" Vano Novikov asked with a strong Caucasian accent and, without waiting for an answer, bent down, took off his boots from Sergei's feet and a professional reception (" Apparently, there was some experience of inspections in prison) with a knife forged insoles. Not finding anything interesting there, the Chechen was disappointed, more likely for pro forma, again asked Novikov: "Why did you come here, gondon?" It became clear that Sergei was elected to them as a victim of mockery and the reason for it was clearly not needed. The absurdity of what was happening was especially striking in the face of the screaming scenery of this more than a strange spectacle. All this "gop-stop," all this hypocritical action took place, very everyday, and therefore especially cynical, on a beautiful April day in front of the government building of the district executive committee, in which there was no one (as luck would have it, it was a non-working Saturday). In a break between our "friendly communication" to the building of the district executive committee, two very beautiful Chechen boys, apparently acquaintances of Vano, suddenly came up. They exchanged several phrases with him in the Chechen language, gave him a cigarette, and looking closely at me and Sergei, they retired proudly. "Come on, come with me," Vano told Sergei and dragged him into the cubicle near the building of the district executive committee, which was apparently used as a wood warehouse. He started Novikov for a small fence, through a narrow crack in which I could see what was happening there. "We must go there and hit the Chechen with a brick on the head," - feverishly knocked in my head and threw in sweat from the thought that I might have to kill a man. Nearby, on a flowerbed, lay a heavy brick. My legs became wadded, I sank to the ground and felt that not only was I not able to hit someone, but simply to take a step.

Suddenly I saw the Chechen begin to strangle Sergei. We had to act. Some unknown force picked me up and carried me to a stop on which there were quite a few people - adult men and women. "Help! "I shouted." There the Chechen strikes my friend! "The men at the bus stop looked at each other in fright. "You see, we do not have time. We are late for work! "- At last one of them, the Russian man (Russian in the Old City, at that time were absolutely" zadrochennymi "Chechens of the national minority) guiltily blamed) 40-45 years. Then I ran towards the pub, which was located next to the stop. At one of the tables I saw two men, obviously "exhausted with narzan," with beer mugs in their hands. "Help, please, there the Chechen beats my friend, as small as I am!" - I asked one of the stocky Russian men at the table. "Petya, do not get involved!" Said the lanky drinking companion to the stocky. He thought a little and briefly left me: "Show me where it is!" We passed for the fence of the district executive committee; Lanky, something grumbled discontentedly under his breath, followed us. As soon as we entered the fence, the Chechen, like a wild panther, jumped out of the cot and, furiously spinning with thorns, yelled at the stocky man: "What does tebe need? I - chechen, I live here! "" Take at least a brick, "I said to Peter, who only looked at me in amazement. "Do not, not to anything! Did he offend you? "He asked Sergei, who, with a pale face, while buttoning his jeans, left the room. He only nodded in silence and whispered to me: "Seryoga, we run away from here!" We ran as though Death was following us with a scythe and with all his court retinue. Fortunately for us, the bus pulled up to Karaganda, we jumped into it and, already departing, saw with horror how Vano was rushing to the stop, maliciously looking out for us among the passengers of the bus. All the way to Karaganda we were silent - Seryozha was clearly in shock. It was clearly visible that this is the first most powerful shock in his still short life.

When I arrived in Karaganda, I, of course, told everything to my father, who was just furious with what I heard: "It is necessary to find this nit!" Through the graduates of the Karaganda school of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, working in the criminal investigation department, he struck a file of the tried Chechens of the Old City, the more so I gave a pretty good description of the exterior and special features of Vano. His capture was just a matter of time. However, soon afterwards, Sergei Tamara Semyonovna's mother came to our house, who asked her father to "put the brakes on", because Sergei has a sick heart, he is still in a terrible depression and will finally finish his trial. As Father Tamara Semyonovna did not convince, that such things can not be left unpunished, she remained adamant.

After this event, my rating among the boys is incredibly grown. The next morning I went out into the courtyard where our courtyard guys and Sergei Novikov were sitting on the bench, like perches on a perch. "Here it is, our hero!" - shouted Borya Morozov, and the guys looked at me with obvious respect. By the way, about whom - about, but about Bora, certainly, it is necessary to tell more in detail.

Boria Morozov, was, in general, an outstanding personality in our yard. The pendulum of my boyish sympathies constantly swung from Novikov to Morozov and vice versa. To say that Borya was always charming and in all cases an attractive person, of course, it is impossible, but that, he was a charismatic guy - this can not be denied. First, he was older than us with Novikov for two years, which, of course, us, the