Carrot children – MK

Destruction is instantaneous, creation is long-term.

In the park near the Novodevichy Convent, at the end of February, several trees were cut down (unnecessarily), and among them a rare beautiful one. It did not stretch upward, but spread parallel to the ground, a wide, almost flat trunk was hospitable to its detriment, small children climbed and swayed on it, as if on a low step. The trunk grunted, creaked and withstood their weight. It was impossible to fall from it: if someone fell onto the lawn, it was not high to fall.

What and to whom did the exotic and unique curiosity, which gave joy, prevent? When looking at this miracle, a reassuring comparison arose with botanical penates and contemplative Japanese rock gardens. If they destroyed it out of fear that it could break and fall on the head of passers-by, the motive is unsuitable. What prompted? Initiative from nothing to do with yourself? Financial reward for getting rid of dead wood? But it turned green. At the same time, the half-dried birch, creaking nearby, was not touched. Why? To have a win-win backlog of work for the future? But a healthy tree is tactically more correct to destroy in winter: the trunk is bare, it will pass for the dead, the sawdust will hide the cover of snow.

I remember: in Soviet times, the wisest writer Oleg Volkov (noble blood classmate of Vladimir Nabokov at the gymnasium) brought to the editorial office of Literaturnaya Gazeta an article entitled “It’s time to cool the ax” – about the ruthless destruction of forests. The article was published under the title “Forest in the hands of a friend”, the editorial work was not agreed with the author.

Fines for supposedly erroneous baldness of sites for future parking lots and kiosks (and even blocks of new buildings) are scanty, impunity is complete. Talk about the fact that there is a special passport for each tree and it is strictly forbidden to touch a clumsy old-timer or a slender youngster with a blade, alas, is not confirmed by practice. If the tree is destroyed in winter or early spring (which is usually practiced), you will not show signs of a crime, you will not prove the viability and viability of the wood remains.

An amazing, antilogical situation: those who care that life does not stop, that animals and birds are preserved in the thickets, that the human race is preserved, which cannot survive without clean air, without medicinal plants, they are harassed as pests. Those who harass and weld on the basis of destruction a huge material benefit (and at the same time act really to harm themselves and their descendants) pretend that they do not realize (or really do not understand?): the future of the planet is under threat, including the future of the children of the cutters. Alas, it is beyond the power of a narrow mind to look into the airless doom.

However, it is typical: those who yearn and wish for good, do good, are sacrificed, such is the peculiarity of the homo sapiens species.

Let’s go deeper. Why do patrons so easily excuse the executors of their orders? Because there are laws that are conveniently drawn up. Who makes these laws? Here the question becomes clearer. Who signs laws and before that whispers drafts? We’ve arrived. Can we expect change after traveling to the root of the problem?

instincts

A gang of boys ran out of the yard with milky-white spears – long fluorescent lamps. Two lads, lagging behind the main detachment, trailed behind and dragged a full box of these fluorescent (as they used to be called) lamps.

“Wait for us, let’s drink together!” shouted those stragglers.

The group moved towards the wasteland – I was heading there too.

I remembered: as a child, in a yard company, it was considered gourmet to “open up” a light bulb found among discarded garbage. Sometimes they found not burnt out. It was happiness to break this one, unlike the burnt one, it, exploding, “poked”, probably, the cotton occurred as a result of a pressure drop.

– Where did they get them? asked a passerby. He was walking beside him, walking the dog. The dog pulled him to each drainpipe and noted. “Probably stolen,” he suggested. And he called (me or the dog?): – Let’s go, hunting to see.

The guys lined up against the wall of a dilapidated red brick house and held their spears at the ready.

– Pli! commanded the commander.

Spears flew into the wall. Some of the boys threw them like in a javelin-throwing competition – from the shoulder, some threw them like gorosh bats. Everyone screamed out loud. Judging by the loud “slaps”, the lamps were fresh. It was worth rejoicing for the guys, but the soreness of prudence interfered. My companion also complained: the house for which the lamps were intended was left without their supply.

To the wasteland, attracted by the noise, the surrounding kids ran. She looked with envy at the lucky ones who took part in the entertainment. Latecomers picked up large fragments of white pipes and again launched them into the wall.

“Instincts are wandering,” said the dog walker. – And there is a lot of harm: mercury.

Then he sadly said that in childhood he always broke lamps with caution and regret: after all, someone could get hurt. Now he was worried about the dog: no matter how it came.

Despair

He stepped into the subway car, at first he thought he was a bum, his clothes were so worn and careless: worn-out boots, worn-out cheap jeans, the hood of a synthetic jacket pulled over his eyebrows. A tattered shoulder bag with a zip. He took it off and placed it near his feet, threw back his hood and exposed his bald head, tangled gray hairs at the temples. He took rubber gloves from his pocket and quickly put them on. “A madman, driven by the fear of catching an infection, will now put on a mask …” And again I was mistaken.

He unzipped the bag, snatched from her belly a clean orange carrot and a plastic “potato peeler” – a machine for peeling vegetables.

– Boys and girls! addressed the passengers. – Necessary thing. The most convenient device, double-sided blade!

And he clearly demonstrated the high quality of the presented goods, slicing the carrot to the right and left and pouring the exfoliated strips into a bowl placed inside the bag. Then he did the same manipulation with a strong cabbage head:

– And shred please!

It was impossible to get rid of the thought of the cost of an advertising campaign: fresh greens cost a pretty penny. At the same time, the look of a traveling salesman screamed about a material catastrophe. But, presumably, kroshevo was later used for cabbage soup or languishing in its own juice.

– One hundred rubles. Boys and girls! Only a hundred! He took several cellophane-wrapped devices from a separate pocket on his bag and moved down the aisle. – Makes life a lot easier…

Either the price did not suit the “boys and girls”, or their kitchens were fully stocked. Agitated Kvelo turned away or looked at their cell phones. The well-wisher, like Papa Carlo, preoccupied with feeding the wooden offspring, hurriedly ran in the other direction. With the same failure. Under the veil of the parable of the “golden key” lurked their own fear and their own hunger, the fading illusory hope of making ends meet was visible, it was dissipated by an illusory haze. No money. What to live on? Nothing to pay for the apartment. No one needs, age props up …

I saw such faces and such eyes in a multitude in the 90s. Those who were overboard, desperately, with the last of their strength, tried to swim out, floundered …

The endless marathon of survival was continued by an endless series of rejected ones.