The flight to New Wank. Nikolay Lakutin

again. The man could not stand:

      – Hey, friend, say, who is this gosh Katz? – he turned to the driver.

      Stepan smiled, glancing through the mirror at the salon, and said:

      I don't know.

      I don't know. – I didn't expect such a response Nicholas.

      Girl giggled grunting.

      – Seriously, I don't know. This guy introduced himself as Gosha Katz or Katz, I don't know what's right. Offered to pay for all empty seats, so as not to wait, and we went, inadvertently leaving you at the bus stop. It everything that I know about it, – the driver answered.

      That's it! – laughed the man, and I'm wondering what the bus is Packed. Well, artist.

      The bus was silent for a while. The couple stared at the woman studying the painting in anticipation of explanations, but she was in no hurry to give them. The man with the girl, and not waiting for clarification, turned in the direction of movement, and stared into the distance stretching beauty, and then, glancing at the guy in front.

      – How do you know him, – after some time the woman said, folding a notebook in my purse – probably, the Philharmonic-don't go? – tried to she give some the answer village species a couple of.

      – What? – said Nicholas, – I have a wife in the city Philharmonic rewind ten. Do you think if not in a Tux person, then in addition to vodka and cucumber nothing in life saw?

      – Who does your wife work at the Philharmonic? the woman asked with interest.

      The guy in the front seat looked at the man with curiosity.

      – Chaplain! he replied haughtily.

      The guy smiled and returned to the gadget.

      – Who, uncle Kol? the girl frowned.

      – A usher, in General-responded he.

      On the bus again there was a silence.

      "The first violin is beyond the Urals," the woman said softly, looking out the window.

      Stepan looked through the mirror at the woman, then at the guy. Then ask:

      – This is since when cultural figures began to earn such money that for an hour fifty to sixty thousand rubles easily to the wind…

      The question was clearly meant for Gaucher. He got distracted from the phone.

      – Look, I don't go in anybody's pocket. Why are you trying to audit mine?

      – No, I'm just curious. I'm sorry if I offended you. I just thought musicians were getting paid. Know was wrong.

      From the minute the boy was silent, then said:

      You were right. All right. My musical career does not bring me much profit. What I make a violin, just enough for gasoline. Honestly, I do not understand how and what my colleagues live on. Interrupted custom concerts, halturki. Who as, in General. Was it worth it seven years in a music school to learn sometimes the conservatories…

      Passengers on the bus listened to Stepan from time to time glancing at the guy.

      – I owe money to my father. And everyone else too. He made a successful business in the nineties, managed, in General, to be on the crest of the wave. And so he made sure that his children did not need anything. To do what we want in life. Not what we have to do to get a penny, but what we want, what we like. I have another sister. She paints. In Europe, it is well known, it is there and lives the last four years. So I have money from my father. Everything is fair and transparent, I spend his capital.

      The boy looked out the window.

      – This is not very reasonable in terms of multiplying the available funds. I have no vein of the businessman, but on the other hand, why this money to rot on Bank accounts if from them there is no use here in life, in real life, instead of on paper, or electronic reports which, in fact, a penny – the price.

      The guy looked back at the woman, then at those two, then answered the driver:

      – I owe everything to my father.

      The guy lowered his head.

      – He called me this morning, said he wasn't feeling well and might not make it through the night. That you need to have time to spread the last word and solve a few formalities. Two hours later I got a call from the hospital of this town or village, Novodarino, said the old man wrong. So I'm in a hurry.

      Stepan shook his head sadly and lay down on the gas pedal.

      – This is an hour not Anton Grigoryevich, your father? – asked full a man have guy.

      – He the most, – responded gosh.

      Nicholas watched all except for the guy.

      – Know him… little. Extraordinary personality.

      – Precisely, – has supported Ghosh.

      – Five years ago, he came to our slum. Built a two-storey house in one summer. Neighbors has always kept his distance, not let close itself to anyone in soul did not climb.

      – It is not only you talked so much know him, always so, – said the guy. – To help – always without question, and the close friendship never drove.

      – Yes, – supported Nicholas – I remember the year before sat down on the belly on their Lada. Spring, the road is broken. Past Anton Grigorievich. Walk, buy bread in the store came out. Never said I like it just the corner of my eye noticed. After five minutes looking on his way back to his jeep. Cable reaches, he touches everything. I was sitting in the car, warming myself. Pulled it out. Said Hello, good day wished and left.

      – I'll find out, father, – supported the violinist.

      Broke the driver:

      – I do not understand something, if a person with money, why is he in such a jungle gone? The house was built. Usually, if you have money, go to meet a quiet old age in Spain, or if you do not speak languages – in the resort area of Russia…