Alex англоязычная версия рассказа о Лёхе

It was right the middle of May. The sun was not yet beating down really hot, but spreading warm waves upon the head and shoulders cozily softened by mild breathing of cool spring breeze. My brother and I have come to Belokurikha just for a day, he was invited as a speaker to some extra-important-problem-of-who-knows-what forum, I have simply taken the chance of spending a day-off.
This time Belokurikha made a surprisingly pleasant impression on me. Besides familiar joyful excitement I always feel coming to the mountains, that day I was also proud of my homeland. Modern hotels and resorts were hiding in well-groomed beautiful parks, lanes and paths were clean and neat, benches and arbors all freshly painted and not yet marked with high season active use. Gardens and parkways, framed with apple trees and cherry in blossom together with green foothills bathing in bright golden sunlight, resembled a beloved scenery pictured by some artist somewhere in the European Alps. The whole morning I was strolling around the area trying not to miss any of the picturesque paths. Remembering that most people are sitting gloomily in staffed offices doubled the pleasure of wandering along the shadowy alleys. I was enjoying calm contemplation of a lazy day. Feeling tired after hours of walking I settled down in an inviting intimate arbor with a bottle of wine. I stretched my exhausted legs and relaxed watching dressed elderly couples from a nearby sanatorium passing by.
- Hey, girl! I’m f***ing drunk…, but you’re so beautiful!
Such a delicate complement was shouted by a young man wearing a track suit who was hurrying to me with stumbling steps. Below average height, fair hair, wet blue eyes, impressive deposits of experience round the waist – not a remarkable appearance at all. He was quite drunk indeed, therefore his eyes blinked too rarely, but his speech was distinct and comprehensive. He sat heavily on the neighboring bench and started a usual acquaintance formula talk: nice to meet you, what’s your name, where are you from, are you alone here. He was talking with long pauses, as if he was often remembering something. I am not tolerant to drunk strangers and usually feel very uncomfortable, so I was going to leave, but his next phrase changed the conversation mood unexpectedly and made me stay.
- I’m an ex-intelligence officer. I was in Chechnya. There was nothing too scary or horrible, by the way. Best of all I remember falling snow. You know, white snowflakes falling slowly down, and everything around is absolutely quite. No sound at all. It was the second or the third of January, a short armistice was settled. Neither they nor we were shooting for three peaceful hours. We called that short period of complete silence “The New Year”. It’s such a real thrill, you know, when one can just stand peacefully smoking a cigarette not being afraid to get shot. F***ing red spots are bouncing on your chest and legs but no fire. F***cking great! What’s this? Give it to me, please. My lips feel dry, too.
I’ve handed him a lip balm and he applied it richly on the lips by his finger.

I let him take a sip of my wine, he winced and wrinkled – didn’t like the sour taste. For a couple of minutes he seemed lost, as if he had forgotten what he was talking about. Alex tried to return to the flirting acquaintance topic and repeated all the usual complements, but suddenly, he switched to another story.
- Well… I’d like to meet Volodya again. It’s my first vocation here. I really like the mountains. The scenery here reminds me of Chechnya. I recall running down the mountain paths in Chechnya wearing flak jacket and other sh*t. Imagine, all that f***ing staff weighed seventy-two kilos! I dragged that sh*t on my hump and it was ok. Today I’ve walked up the hill wearing nothing but a t-shirt, and you know what? I felt like I gonna spit my f***ing lungs out! Yep, then I was strong and sturdy. And I was nineteen. Now I’m thirty three. Tell me, would you marry a thirty-three-year old man?

- Yes, why not?

- Sure? Doesn’t seem quite an age to you?...

- Absolutely not. Thirty-three is a really young man.

- Seriously? Hmm… For example, Volodya and I are breaking into a house… Imagine, at first I throw a hand grenade, then we get in and Vovka shoots everyone at once. I can’t understand how he could notice them so quickly. He was impossibly accurate. When we settled in a building, he used to examine all around through the gunsight. He had a nice gun, really cool. Vovka could look around and say: “There is a beetle, here is another slut, and on the second floor of that house sits a dick”.

I was puzzled he mentioned women.
- Yep, don’t you know? There were a lot of shooter-girls in the Chechen company. Volodya made marks on his gun to remember how many people he killed, but he never made one when he shot a woman. He hated to shoot girls. Quite often we came across f***ng snipers who turned to be beautiful chicks. Once we captured a Canadian girl. There were a lot of hitmen, by the way. A cute nineteen year old girl served as a contract killer! We asked her: “Why?! What the f*** are you doing here? Damn it, you’d better stay home and raise kids!” She answered: “I gonna shoot until all Russians are dead!” We asked why she had such a deep hatred to Russians and she said that “all Russians are dirty mother***ing pigs”. That’s the sh*t. She was totally brain-washed. It was f***ing sad to kill women. You now, those filthy whores were really foul murders. They tried to wound us in a sneaky way so that we would die slowly and painfully. They usually aimed at legs and balls. Imagine, you are walking and they hit your balls! Hey, let’s stroll a little!
We went to the nearest market place where Alex bought a one and-a-half litter plastic bottle of honey-wine. I listened to his stories without interrupting and asked some clarifying questions from time to time. I should say that before I met Alex for me the war in Chechnya had been just a childhood memory, when parent switched the channel from cartoons to some boring political news. Though Alex was notably drunk, he behaved himself: neat clothes, no extra four-letter words, no vulgar comments just ordinary complement which he put into his narration in the most unexpected moments. It turned out that Alex is a chief railway engineer from Kirov and is spending his vocation in Belokyrikha in the railway employees’ sanatorium. Alex confessed that despite being responsible for serviceability check of the locomotives for passenger trains, he has no any technical education. Actually he understands nothing in locomotives or engines. All the work is done by the average staff and Alex just signs the documents. It remains a mystery to me how he ever got to work for the Russian Railway.
We took a sit in a street caf;, clinked the bottles and he continued to tell his story.
- What the f*** was it all for and about? We did it to let you sit here now. All of us knew that we were at war for the common girls and boys like we were ourselves then. How many such boys were wounded, killed, maimed! Once I had to load the killed and wounded to the trucks. There were so many of them that I got out of breath and cried in despair: “Sh*t! It’s f***ing enough for me! I’m not gonna do this anymore!” There I met a guy of my age. He told me: “Hey, wat’s your name, dude? I’m Sanya. Alex, look here, some f***ing whore shot off both of my legs!” And then he got crazy and laughed out loudly. He didn’t understand yet, was shocked and under drugs. I was dragging him and thinking: “Dear Sanya, tomorrow you’ll wake up and see your stumps…” Hah… Let’s make a drink for you! You’ve got f***ing lovely lips! Cheers!
We took a sip from our bottles.
- Nevertheless, I remember the snowfall so vividly. White snowflakes are falling down slowly and sink in deep silence. Vovka. I wish I found him, sat in some place and talked to him. So many times he saved me! Do you know the pattern of making the war? No? In Chechen company it was this way: at first goes APC with military intelligence – this is us. We have to clear the way for the troops. After the corps safely goes through, another APC covers the rare lines. So, we were moving like this all the way. Once, it was summer, I got drunk and rode on top of our APC waving my helmet. I was giggling like a drunk dick. Volodya shouted at me: “Hey, you! F***ing idiot! Get down! They’ll shoot you!” He watched me then with his gun, shot three snipers. Yep, but for him, I would…

- What do you mean “drunk”? Where did you get alcohol? – I was na;ve to surprise.

- We were supplied with alcohol and dope. Vovka was permanently under hemp. See, I saw death as a result. Handed grenade, got in and someone was already dead there. It was always that way in Groznyy. But Volodya, he saw death in a crosshair. Every time the bullet reached the aim, he observed the exact moment he killed a man. Vovka was a high-class shooter, a very accurate eye he had. One sniper-girl got the bullet right in her eye! I was shocked when we found her body. Volodya always shot the head or the heart to kill for sure. Not as those sluts did – aimed at our balls. Well, you know, I had never thought that one could make sex in the army.
He suddenly changed the subject. His bottle was more than half-empty.
- One day two Chechen girls came to our base. One was young and quite cute, the other was stout and much older.
I disbelieved that Chechen girls could voluntarily come to Russians and not blow them up.
- No. There were different people. You should understand, their home was at war, they had nowhere to go and simply lived with us. We let them stay and do the housekeeping. We had a bath in our camp. And once I came across the young girl in there… So, that how it was. It was our life then. Later, after the war, I lived with Kate. We were together for five years, but something went wrong. I don’t know. I must be not capable or suitable for family life. Now I have another girlfriend, but I gonna leave her, too. Something’s always f***ing wrong. You know, I should have some mental disorder or sexual deviation. I like sex with several men and a woman. And you? Would you like to try sh*t like this?

- No. I could hardly try with a man and another girl at most.

- And I’m bored to have ordinary sex. Yep. Actually, I’m ok. I’ve got enough money, a really nice apartment in the center of the city… But it doesn’t make me happy. Don’t know why. Tell me, could you be with me?

- Don’t think so. It worries me and even scares that you were at war. Moreover, you seem to be an alcoholic.

- What’s wrong with this? Kate told me, that when I came home drunk, I usually listened to the songs we sang during Chechen company and went to bed. That’s it. I never do anything bad. I’d like to sing a song now.

- Well, why not?

Without further delay Alex stood up and started to sing a song out loudly. I should mention, that he sang quite well. As he was singing, some passersby were surprised and smiled, others were outraged and watched us gloomily. Alex finished his performance and sat back down.
- When I was ten, my father gave me a bike. A new one, right from the mall. Presented it to me and said: “Here, ride it carefully and keep it safe”. Then we went home and he fried some potatoes for me. Dad was watching me eating those potatoes and I was eager to please him. I was sitting at the kitchen table eating my potatoes and trying hard to please my father. Next morning I left hiking with my school. I took my new bike with me. When I was back the next evening everything was already in flowers. Dad had hung himself. Just imaging my f***ing shock. Dad was a volunteer rescuer in Chernobyl NPP disaster area. When it all happened he worked there without any special anti-radiation suit. Didn’t listen to anyone. So he got too much irradiated which caused a terrible disease. He left a goodbye note where he wrote that he had hung himself because his dick was off. Mom started to drink after dad’s suicide. She drank everything we had off. No money or food left. I had my meal at school as a social support. Mom later met another man but it wasn’t for better. They were a nice company to drink together. My granny asked me to live with her but I felt ashamed and didn’t agree. I had no money at all and I started to steal. In the nineties it was easy to get to the wrong company. I was a sporty sixteen-year-old guy and was really fond of fighting. Buddies entrusted me to watch two gas-stations. It was an unusual trust and privilege for a pup like me. Then mom finally died from alcohol and I moved to my best-in-the-whole-world granny. Those gas-stations brought me enough money. I could afford almost anything. But granny was worried and upset: “Please, give it up, son”, - she asked me. But I had already got used to the adrenaline I got from this and didn’t want to quit. In the end cops arrested me and I had to give them my gas-stations. From then on they got their profit from them. Soon afterwards I was taken in the army.

- What happened after the Chechen war was over?

- I never met Volodya after we had parted in Groznyy. I graduated from the university and worked for one big company in Kirov. But then we fell out of love with my boss and I left. And now I’m working for Russian Railway, though I don’t understand a f*** in it. Everything’s all right. I have a good salary; moreover, I receive a pension for my medal. I got it when I got wounded. But I’m still a thief. Yep, I steal every month. How? I write off locomotives. When I write off a locomotive, I don’t include all the oil and coper details it’s got in into the documents. So, I simply resell the oil and details back to Russian Railway. That’s the trick. I like to buy expensive clothes. Actually, I never buy a cheap one. I like it when my girlfriend wears expensive brand lingerie and I can afford it. You know, Volodya and I had our own f***ing kind of trick. I went aside as if to pee and the sniper, whom Vovka surely got at gunpoint, was distracted on me. That’s exactly when Volodya got that son of a bitch shot. It’s very picturesque in Chechnya I should say. Just like here. Give me your number, will you?

I didn’t give him my number. I said, I was glad to meet him and wished him all the best. I was surprised, that a drunk stranger could win my attention. My brother finished his forum and we went home. When we were leaving the parking I saw the ex-intelligence officer tottering to the Russian Railway’s sanatorium. Alex’s story excited me and I stayed under impression for several days.