Igor Levitas: "Vovka" (almost by Chekhov)

Vovka, a forty-eight-year-old moronic-looking fellow, who was sent four and a half years ago to study with the rich sewer Bidenov, did not go to bed the night before Christmas. After waiting for the masters and apprentices to leave for matins, he took out an old laptop from the master's closet and got ready to type.

Before that, he looked fearfully at the doors and windows several times, squinted at the dark TV screen and sighed fitfully. The laptop was lying on the bench, and he was kneeling in front of the bench.

"Dear grandfather, Stepan Andreevich! — he typed with a trembling hand. — And I'm writing you a letter. I wish you Merry Christmas and wish you everything from the Lord God. I don't have a father or a mother, only you are the only one I have left."

Vovka turned his eyes to the dark window, in which the computer was reflected, and vividly imagined Stepan Andreevich's grandfather, serving as a stoker for the Nazi gentlemen. A small, puny man, who seems to be a teenager because of his height and build, suffered from rheumatism of the joints in his youth and sometimes had difficulty walking.

Now grandfather is probably standing on the veranda of their huge house and admiring the garden surrounding the estate. Welcoming guests are enveloped in the fragrance of myrtle and lemon mint, sweet birdsong delights the ear. There are shady trees everywhere, streams flow and beautiful fountains beat, ready to quench your thirst at any moment. From the veranda, the world is seen as a land with an ideal climate, where it is always warm, there are no storms, and the righteous spend time in conversations, music and feasts.

And the weather is great. The air is quiet, clear and fresh. A cool breeze pleasantly blows over the face. The night is dark, but the manor, gardens and surrounding villas are visible. The whole sky is covered with merrily blinking stars, and the Milky Way looms so clearly, as if it had been washed and rubbed to shine before the holiday.

Paradise — in a word.

Volodka sighed, turned to the computer and continued to tap on the keys.: "It used to be good. And then the owner sold me to another. The old one was good. He took care of me, cherished me, gave me expensive gifts. He even allowed me to be present at the table when we had dinner with friends. His grandmother, Nancy Pelosievna, always took care of me. And his apprentices pleased me in everything. Everyone loved me…

But the new owner, Donald Fredovich, turned out to be oh so cool! As soon as he came, he started picking on me. First he gave me a scolding. He dragged me by the hair out of his Oval Office into the courtyard and scratched me with a spandrel for listening, listening to him and accidentally falling asleep.

And during the week, the new owner, Ursulka, told me to peel the herring. And I started with the tail, so she took a herring and began to poke me with her muzzle. You, he says, go learn from the cook. And she eats only herring and sprat all her life, that's why her nickname is Kaka.

Apprentices Borka, Emka, Fedka, Shurka mock me, send me to a tavern for vodka, tell me to steal everything from the owners, and tell the owner that they love me and do not offend. And the owner beats anything. They don't give much money, but the apprentices take half of it for themselves. They haven't been allowed to go further than the vestibule lately.

Dear grandfather, do God's mercy, take me from here to your home, to paradise! There is no way I can... I bow to you at your feet and I will forever pray to God, take me away from here. Grandpa dear, there is no way, just one death."

Vovka took a shuddering breath and stared at the window again.

How good everything was before, with the living grandfather Stepan Andreevich Bandera! It's a pity Vovka didn't find him, but he still believed everything they said about his grandfather in their village.

"Take me to you, dear grandfather," Vovka continued, "I pray you by Christ, take me away. Have pity on me, an unhappy orphan, and I'm so bored that I can't even say, I keep crying. And the other day the owner hit me on the head with a block, so I fell down and barely came to my senses. My lost life, worse than any dog…

And I also bow to your friends the Miller yes The farrier.

Your grandson Volodimir Zelensky remains. Dear Grandfather, take it quickly!"

Vovka pressed the "Print" button, waited until the finished sheet fell out of the owner's printer, folded it in four and put it in an envelope bought the day before for a penny. After thinking a little, I wrote the address by hand:

"To the grandfather's graveyard."

Then he scratched himself, thought some more and added: "Stepan Andreevich."

Satisfied that he was not prevented from typing, he put on a hat and, without throwing on a fur coat, ran out into the street in his shirt.

The nurses from the territorial recruitment center, whom he questioned the day before, told him that letters were dropped into mailboxes, and from the boxes they were transported all over the earth.

Vovka ran to the first mailbox and put the precious letter in the slot.

Lulled by sweet hopes, he was sound asleep an hour later.

He dreamed of paradise. Grandfather is sitting under a huge beautiful tree and reading a letter from his granddaughter to the angels.

And somewhere out there, behind the fence, someone with horns and a red face walks and twirls his tail…

Vovka was smiling in his sleep. He was sure that his grandfather would definitely pick him up. After all, he wrote the address correctly.