Psychedelic fiction (ch.3)

This is a sequel. Chapter 1 here and the 2nd here .

The taxi driver is going slowly, not in a hurry. Small drops of rain flow down the glass, and on the radio they say something about the international situation and some kind of negotiations. Suddenly the thought comes to me that I never looked at the sender's address on the parcel form. Silly of course, given that I was sticking a piece of tape with it; I suppose that the address I’m going to is duplicated there for the third time, but of course it’s worth checking. I have already reached out to the box, as Alina asks me still looking out the window thoughtfully:
- And you are not interested to know what is there?
- "There" at where?
- Well there, in the package - she turns to me. I shrug.
- Or where are we going?
- Well, we'll soon find out.
- I do not know…
Alina says it is sad, I look into her big bright eyes. They shine. Suddenly, I was sharply thrown at her, although the blow is not strong and the collision is slowed down even by clothes. A moment, two, and I understand that the car crashed into something or something stopped him abruptly. Although it would be time to look around, I’m staring at Alina’s face, and she’s me. I look away; yes, the car kissed the other slightly, which is now standing nearby. My wing was probably scratched and flattened, although the door opens without problems. I go out; the cool air hits the nose, and the ears, temples and the back of the head unpleasantly get wet from the drizzle. The taxi driver is next to something lamenting, other cars brake and circle us. The owner of the second car probably runs up to the taxi driver and shouts to him. All this does not interest me much - I give a hand to the girl, she gets out, holding the box in her hands.
- Well, alive?
- Yeah.
We silently look at the hassle of drivers.
- Where are we at all?
Alina looks around, but also does not know the street.
- Okay, let's go - I take the box from her - now I will call the taxi again.
I turn to the sidewalk from the roadway, several times I loudly honk, trying to find a sign with the name of the street. As evil it is not - long brick walls do not speak about anything at all, including and whether it is a residential building. I walk 50 meters, but the street name is still not there. I stop a passer-by who comes to the meeting, but he also does not know what kind of street it is. Even rain drizzles, the only joy - although it would not be cold. The situation turns out to be stupid - the time for a walk is unsuccessful, and sooner or later the box will be sodden. Not talking about me. It remains only to get the phone and turn on the GPS, but this is a cold start and it will take about 10 minutes until the receiver determines its location. Yes, and it is better not to move at this time. Since I do not want to get wet all this time in the rain, I turn around sharply, the girl barely keeps up with me. When asked why I turned, I just grunted something. After walking a little bit, I walk through a side street through a brick building - yes, it appears to be empty. Moreover, no whole doors (and glass windows, of course), just a brick box, without hints, even at the watchmen mongrels or the homeless. It remains only to go inside and wait until the GPS receiver finds its location.
Most likely, this building has a connection with something industrial, at least, high ceilings, the absence of partitions and bright niches from the windows say so. Inside, it would even be cozy, if not for the characteristic smell of dampness and lack of people.
“It's so ... empty.” And even clean.
- For demolition, probably - I throw the box on the concrete floor under my feet. The box emits a muffled chime. In vain I regretted the foam.
- And now what?
- I will wait until the GPS catches the signal, though - I look at the ceiling with my mouth open, but I don’t see anything interesting - although it may be shielded by something here.
Alina shakes her hair and takes a few steps back and forth beside me. I even hear the smell of her hair.
- I'll leave.
- What for?
- Well, what are you asking ...
- What, itch?
She silently leaves, her steps echo in an empty room where there is nothing more to absorb sounds.
“C'mon, I would turn away ...”
Alina at the other end of the room turns:
- <My last name, first name, middle name>, I would never have become ... - she waved her hand - well, in general, you understand.
Maybe I would have given up, but I warm both hands and dry in my pockets. I look at the phone, the location is not determined, the search is on. It would be interesting if the roof of the building turned out to be antique and plated with metal which shields the signal. However, judging by the satellites, the phone catches the usual communication.
I can rarely stand in one place for a long time if I’m not busy with anything. I walk up to the empty walls, there is absolutely nothing on them, only a brick and the remnants of plaster on it. For the entourage is not enough of the Soviet poster on civil defense and a pair of boxes of gas masks. Well, or at least a lonely industrial lamp like DRL. But no, the building is ideally empty. Most likely, it will soon be demolished, and in its place will be for many years to build a residential building with studio apartments. I even have a desire to write something on the wall, but from the means for this, there is nothing suitable except a piece of plaster. I am about to bend down behind him, as I cringe from the voice behind:
- Hey!
I shudder and turn sharply. Before me is a puffy man of medium height, middle-aged, with an average belly, but the first thing that attracts the eye is watery eyes. One eye looks a little to the side, probably glass. On the head and unshaven deep-set chin, about the same amount of straw hair. After such a sudden appearance of a stranger, I only squeeze out of myself:
- Yes.
The peasant looks a little to the side (probably with both eyes), takes a step towards me, somehow pulling a hand from behind his back with a bottle of beer from behind the doll. He turns to me, takes a sip of beer and says:
“Where is there ... what is the street like?”
I shrug, say I do not know and would like to know myself.
- Oh, I see ... - another sip of beer, silence.
I wonder what he actually does here.
- Why, walked, wake at me, you know? He took a vacation to come - he will bore me with his eye - and how are you, local?
- Yes of course.
“I don’t understand what kind of people you have here ...” stranger says with a certain sorrow.
I wonder what the problem is, he gives a vague answer, then he remembers one of the two past local wars. Perhaps, and reaching. If you believe him, he was their member. A stranger is not against recalling his resilience, and his relations with enemies - then and now - especially now that enemies have ceased to be enemies. In addition, his colleagues' careerism along with neglect of official duties causes him no less dislike. But:
- Shot ... - he throws up his hands - you know?
I am even slightly interested, and if I had not been interested, I would not translate the dialogue into other topics:
“However,” I ask, with some suspicion, “just like this?” Aiming, through the rear sight and the fly in a person? And for the trigger?
It should be a hitch for a few seconds - my interlocutor became the most serious, shook his head, jerked, smiled, threw up his hands.
- How do you know? - he sips beer - You're young. Is it you? Ta-am? - it shows to the side and, I think, there should be the West there. At least, I hardly approach other conflicts in age. Now I understand that, perhaps, in vain said so, especially since the answer of the interlocutor allows you to assume in front of a man a relatively serious, albeit drunk.
- Not. I can't, no one ... well, I can't! But with a knife - a dismissive wave of the hand and a short movement in the air - even better.
Alas, it cost me to keep my mouth shut. I answer:
- Yes, about shooting at people, this is a generally known fact ... People almost cannot shoot at people with aim. Everyone knows that, I squeeze out.
It is not strange, my question has melted the ice even between sober and drunk. We exchange a few more phrases, or rather, for the most part, I listen to nonsense. I am interested in the name, and then the title of a stranger - he is represented by a major. Can't say if he's lying. But for some trifles, we can conclude that he does not lie completely. I find myself thinking that it is hard for me to listen to his speeches and Alina, as a good excuse to retire, would be very helpful here. However, the new acquaintance does not lag behind, and if nobody interrupts us, he will conduct a monologue for another hour. He is happy to give me his phone, but the next holiday, to which I should be invited to drink and chat, simply does not. While I call him back (I don’t remember my number), Alina is quietly coming up. It remains for me to inform him that I am in a hurry with the girl. The GPS has really warmed up, and I see the name of the street. I firmly shake the hand of the major and leave him alone in the building. Turning the corner, Alina sighs softly:
“He’s a completely different person when he drinks ... Some people just can't drink.”
I even stop.
- You know him, or what?
- Not.
- Right?
- Well, what are you asking? - she waves her hand.
- Exactly?
- Well, you say that some people just can not drink.
I do not remember such a thing said, at least to her.
We continue the way, we reach the road, I call a taxi. I call the address for the taxi driver a second time in a day, and we go on. It is already dark outside, although the lights have not yet been lit.
While the taxi is at a red traffic light, I realize that I am gnawing at the feeling that I missed something, forgot something. Under these thoughts it would be good to fall asleep in the car, but it illuminates me. Box! Fucking piece of cardboard remained standing there, in a brick building.
Once I forgot there are only two - to return for the box or come without it. After a second hesitation, I choose to go as is. I'm already tired, today's bustle has tired me. Having made a decision, it becomes interesting to me if Alina watched the box:
- Remember the cardboard box?
- Which one?
- Well, which I kept in my hands all the time.
A few seconds of silence.
- Did you forget her?
I nod.
“But there was nothing valuable there?”
- Not. Only the address of the place of departure, which I forgot to see, except that ...
- And you want to come back?
- What for? I'm sick of this story, let me see with my own eyes first, who needs a package.
However, the feeling that something is missing does not leave me. Now I notice that I cannot hear the sound of a car engine. Alina looks at me. Then he turns, looks at his knees and then again at me.
- You understand ... You just do not be angry ... but I think I think that we will not get there today.
- Why?
- So like this.
I cast a spiteful glance at her and wonder if this is a female intuition. However, the girl just shrugs. Even a quick glance at the dashboard, I see that the power in the on-board network is completely turned off, although the driver is still taking some sort of manipulation. I tell him that we probably arrived. It remains only to get out of a taxi and again go to the sidewalk from the roadway.
- Well, at a pace in a few hours we will be there - I notice cheerfully; the situation is really funny in some way - and note that we will not pay the ruble either.
For a while Alina and I were tired, but we were fascinated by the taxi driver’s running around his car. I already turn, as Alina again hangs on my elbow.
- Maybe we will go? - she shows on a cafe or something like that very close.
Maybe we'll go, I need to drink some coffee though. Having measured the step, I and Alina on my hand move to the cafe. In general, the facade of the institution largely consists of glass and the well-lit space inside is perfectly visible from the street. There is a Latin inscription on the glass, I try to read the name out loud, but the words don't speak anything to me. Pushing the glass door away from me, I state that the words are not English. A girl in white smiles forcibly smiles at us, I just nod back. Alina says thoughtfully:
- Four columns.
Lonely passing through the empty hall, I throw a girl from my hand and flop myself on a chair.
- Four columns?
- De Vier Pilaren. There is such a ...
A thin girl comes up from the menu, I don’t even look, saying that I have coffee with sugar, Alina orders some more trifle.
- So how is "such"? - I'm really interested.
Having paused, but looking somewhere on the table, and not at me, Alina continues:
- There is such a restaurant in Amsterdam. De Vier Pilaren. Pillars, columns ... four.
- And the domestic compares?
She just smiles shyly and shakes her head.
“It's more comfortable there ...”
A slight pause.
- Amsterdam? A restaurant?
- Do not you remember it?
I shrug.
- Well yes. After all, I spent part of my childhood there ... - she makes a vague gesture - in Holland.
There is a short pause. These words hardly cause any reaction in me, and therefore I prefer to keep silent.
“You wanted to see my passport, didn't you?”
- Wanted?
- Well, yes, at home. You wanted to see what was written there?
- There was an idea.
“If you still want to ...” she climbs into her coat pocket. Simultaneously, a waitress with coffee is coming. I, in a fit of trust, say that I will look later. For now let coffee drink and eat a cake.
Alina is interested in what's next. I only notice that it would be no more or less a pity for me to take a third car into disrepair than the two previous ones. I will definitely not feel remorse. The only question is where to go - at the address of the letter sent or home.
- There is probably bad karma, where do you want to go. I am sure that the third time we will not drive a truck?
- Sure. Moreover, even if the taxi breaks down for the third time, there will be nothing strange in this.
Alina stops even chewing her cake:
- Are you sure?
- At least 100 times a day will break. From the point of view of probability theory, these events do not depend on each other, if they are of course different cars with different drivers.
- But you - Alina licks the spoon and looks at me - you always said that you could not tolerate higher mathematics ...
- But not probability theory.
- You said that you passed it from the second or third time when you studied.
- I said that?
I’m pretty sure that this hasn’t been spread at all. Moreover, I am already beginning to forget what I gave and how, and only Alina's words make me remember something.
I rummage in my coat pocket and scrape the contents onto the table. Dried hawthorn seeds, two ordinary inch computer screws, a few coins, that’s what interests me.
- Eagle home or tails home? - asks the girl.
- Tackle.
I throw a coin, but it flies off to the side disobediently, rolls with a ringing sound on the table and falls to the floor. The bartender suddenly looks out from behind the bar, but before that I had never thought that there was anyone there. Alina and I are looking at the coin on the floor. And an eagle is looking at us.
Get out the phone, but apparently turned on the GPS finally discharged the battery. I ask Alina to call, but she only shrugs her shoulders and says that she has no phone. It remains only to pay and ask for a taxi waitress.
The street is already dark, the orange lanterns lightly illuminate the street. A few minutes later I talked about the girl with the words, then a taxi pulls up and I even have a little fun. Interestingly, if I lose the third car? Night city glitters with all the power of street lamps, the light of which is also repeatedly reflected from puddles. I even begin to wonder if I should go somewhere else with Alina.
Nevertheless, I do not forget about the proposal of the girl about the passport. We arrived and when she gets out of the car I put a piece of paper to the taxi driver and in a few long steps I catch up with her. I hang over Alina's shoulder and quietly ask about a passport. I can smell the girl's hair; Well, now I'm almost sure that I only heard it for the first time yesterday. Alina sighs and without even turning to me she lifts her passport over her shoulder, holding it out. The street lamp shines almost directly into my yard, and in its light the yellow light even the color of the cover is lost — it appears brown instead of the color of venous blood. However, everything else can be seen perfectly - I open my passport, read, and can not help but smile.
- Well, now can we see what came to you by mail?