A. Belyaev
© A. Belyaev, 2019
ISBN 978-5-0050-1389-7 (т. 6)
ISBN 978-5-0050-0936-4
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
FIGHT ON AIR
Chapter 1
IN SUMMER EVENING
I sat on the garden, painted in green color wicker chair at the region of the wide avenue from chestnuts and the blossoming lindens. Their sweet aroma filled air. The setting beams the sun gilded sand of the wide avenue and a top of trees.
How I got here, to this unfamiliar garden? I strained memory, but she refused to serve me. Only yesterday or maybe there was a winter, the eve of New year only several hours ago. I came back home from service, from Kitay-gorod to Moscow to myself on the apartment. Usual tram crush. Angry passengers. All such habitual. Came home and took seat at a desk waiting for a lunch. On a table there was a mobile calendar and showed on December 31.
“Happy New Year! Do not forget to buy a calendar on 19 … year” – it was printed on this leaf.
“And I really forgot to buy” – I thought, looking at a calendar.
I remember all this well. But further… What was farther? I, apparently, put on earphones of my self-made radio receiver “on system of the engineer Shaposhnikov” on a habit to manage to listen to several radiotelegrams of TASS till a lunch – Muscovites were accustomed “to condense time”. It is remembered, the viscous voice transferred the telegram about the war in China. But some failure was farther in my memory. She refused to serve me. I could not oversleep till summer?! What does all this mean? Riddle! Eventually nothing remained to me more how to reconcile with the happened change.
“If it is the dream, then interesting – I thought. – Let’s look”.
But it could not be a dream. Too everything was real, though is extraordinary strange and unfamiliar.
On the wide avenue, the leaving tape in both parties, people went diversely. Mail all of them were young. I did not see the old men going decrepit gait. All were dressed in the suits reminding the Greek tunics: the wide, surrounded shirt reaching knees, open hands and a breast. This suit was simple and monotonous on breed, but in everyone there was something special, obviously reflecting taste of the carrier. Suits differed one from another in color. Gentle colors – lilac, pale pale-yellow and blue prevailed. But were a tunic and brighter coloring, with patterns and intricate slips. Legs of residents of the unknown country were put in light sandals. The heads with the cut hair – are uncovered. All of them were in proportion put, swarty from suntan, are healthy and cheerful. Among them was not neither thick, nor thin, nor excessively physically developed. And to tell the truth, I could not always sort which of them the young man and who the girl.
Especially one their strangeness struck me: lonely people went, about something talking though was near nobody, laughed, answered questions someone invisible. Everyone held the left hand as though wishing to cover it about the mouth.
“Perhaps, they are mentally ill people? And this park is at a clinic?” – I thought. But then there have to be nurses, doctors, watchmen who would look after patients. However white dressing gowns were not visible. Some passed quite close about me, and then I heard scraps of their lonely talk. But they spoke some unfamiliar language. Where, eventually, I am? And why all of them look at me with such surprise? I, apparently, am pretty well dressed in a suit from Moskvoshvey…
Near me there was a free chair. I wanted and at the same time was afraid that somebody will sit down by me, tried not to fix to myself eyes of these people. Sat with an independent air and listened to melodious music which reached from Apollo’s statue standing near me.
I do not know whether long I stayed in such loneliness if not a case which led me to closer contact with this new world. Absolutely trifling case: I wanted to smoke. I took out a box of cigarettes “Luxury” and lit. This innocent occupation had effect, absolutely unexpected for me.
In spite of the fact that all these young men (or girls) were, apparently, very reserved, they suddenly surrounded with the whole crowd me, looking at the smoke which is coming out my mouth with such amazement as though I began to breathe suddenly a flame. They about something began to speak hotly between themselves the language. I involuntarily was confused, but tried to keep an easy look and even stuffed up a leg on a leg.
At last one of them separated from crowd, approached me and asked:
– Kiu vi (Kiu ви)?
Vee – it is very similar on “you”. What they can ask about? Of course, about the one who I am. Whether it is Esperanto? As annoyingly that I did not learn Esperanto.
– I am Russian, from Moscow.
Asking turned back to crowd, and they started talking about something again. Whether they understood me? Having talked, they suddenly became silent, and that which spoke with me laid a hand to a mouth. In a hand it I noticed a small round black subject. The young man held this subject at a mouth when spoke. Here it that! Phone! Phone without wires. Obviously, radio. In any case, I got to cultural people. We did not dream of such progress of radio in Moscow yet. But what the country what for the people is?
However I had no time to argue. The surrounding crowd pricked up the ears waiting for something. Some impatiently looked at the sky.
“Whether they wait for the militiaman?” – I thought, looking around at a ballot box for stubs. I did not find it and threw a stub on a path. Several people carefully drew near, bent down and with curiosity began to consider a stub.
The crowd suddenly became agitated. All heads rose up. I looked in the same party and saw the point flying in the sky. The point grew in a mosquito, in a fly – someone flew here, – which strange insect with the small, trembling wings. To my amazement, the insect was a person. It quickly fell, smoothly and silently, near my chair. Wings developed behind his back, as at a butterfly. Arrived was in the same tunic, but blue color and from more dense matter. On the head of the person there were no hair at all, the person him differed in nothing from others, only a few wrinkles at his dark, clever eyes said that it is not young any more.
– Vee Russian? – he asked me.
“Translator” – I thought.
– Yes, I am Russian.
I called the surname and gave it a hand. This gesture, apparently, frightened standing near me, and they moved back.
“Translator” with astonishment looked at my given hand, thought of something, smiled, nodded and with some internal effort as though being afraid to dirty the hand, stretched it. This strange Luda, obviously, did not know that such handshake. The translator did not reap my hand as it usually becomes, and only brought the hand and applied to my palm. People around silently observed this ceremony.
– Hello – he told, precisely, as the foreigner, uttering each letter. – I am a historian. My name is Ale. We want to know who you from where you, as well as for what purpose you arrived here are?
Um … “Arrival purpose”. Possibly, they do not know a different way of the message, except air. However that I can answer it?
– From where – I already told you. I can tell nothing bigger to you because also itself I do not know how got here. And I would like to return to Moscow somewhat quicker.
– To return to Moscow? – Ale turned back to crowd and, obviously, translated to listeners my answer. Exclamations of surprise and laughter were heard.
I began to become angry.
– The right, in it is not present anything ridiculous – I told Ale. – And I, in return, would ask you to answer me who you are and where I am. How this city in what state it is is called?
– You do not become angry, I ask you – Ale answered. – I will explain to you then why your answer