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Chapter 15

Finite, - I woke up for a change not in the Hospital Wing, but right in the same place where I was struck down by the Professor's Stupefy. The Weasleys were no longer there, meaning he seemed to have been carried away, and the students had also been dispersed. Standing next to me were Deans Sprout and Flitwick. The expression on the professors' faces was… unreadable.

Come on, Vincent, the dean beckoned me. - Although I was against it, the director ordered that you be taken to the punishment cell before the start of the trial.

"It's crazy! There's a prison at Hogwarts! I wonder who, besides me, has been there lately? Maybe Weasley?" Thought - done, I did not hesitate to ask this from my escorts. Pomona chewed her lips in displeasure and said that the last visitor to the punishment cell was Hagrid. "Fun. Not Riddle. Not Marauders. Not Weasleys."

So, Mr. Crabbe, tell us what and why you arranged? - descending into the dungeon, the dean of Ravenclaw began to question.

And I began my long story, emphasizing the vile lawlessness committed by the Twins, my restraint, my attempt to negotiate, the indifferent silence of the educators and Sally who left us. Both Flitwick and Pomona, in response to my reasoning, nodded their heads in agreement, and it turned out to be very funny for them. What Flitwick liked, Sprout didn't like, and vice versa. When asked why I ruined his trophy, I replied with a long-formulated phrase:

Forgive me, professor, but with the stick that you gave me, only lazy house-builders should be punished. To a man this is what a pellet is to an elephant. Therefore, I decided that if the ritual item was changed a little, then it would retain its ability to inflict heavy wounds on the magician.

He lost some of his properties anyway, - the professor said thoughtfully. Apparently, from a professional point of view, he became curious about how the mechanical change in the shape of a magical object affects its properties.

I took this into account and therefore smeared the club with a mixture of dragon dung, undiluted bubontuber pus, salt and pepper.

However, Flitwick was surprised.

I'll have to warn Pomfrey," Sprout muttered.

And yet, Mr. Crabbe, how is it? You broke the rules...

Paradoxically, I didn't break a single school rule. I didn't do magic in the transitions, unlike the Gryffindors...

But an attack on a student? You would have killed him!

No, Professor, - Pomona looked at me with satisfaction. And thank you for stopping by. To get out of this situation without losing face, I could only go to the corpse of the Weasley in Azkaban. And so, everyone is happy, everyone is alive ...

But still, somehow it is dirty ... Poisoned weapons, an attack not according to the dueling code, non-conventional weapons ...

Professor! Don't you understand me? Don't you remember that wonderful feeling? Defeat an opponent stronger than you without violating the formal rules? Poisoned weapons - so there are two of them. Attack from around the corner - so they don't "come at you" on me either! Unconventional weapons? Was there a duel? Yes, for such a duel, society would ostracize them! And what is the sum ... As a fighter and having goblins in his ancestors, as no one else should know that weapons are forged for battle! The blade should drink blood, not hang on...

I didn't even have time to blink before I was pinned to the floor. Too large and strong for such a small body hand tightly squeezed my throat. "What sharp legs he has... claws!" I thought automatically.

Remember, mis-s-s-ster Crabbe, - the half-goblin hissed almost in Parseltongue, baring his teeth in an evil grin. The professor's features sharpened sharply. I just now realized that I had never seen Flitwick smile so wide with his lips. And there was something to show there: a dense row, like those of people, sharp, like those of goblins and savage cannibals, fangs would make a shark nod respectfully. - Never, if your life is dear to you, do not mention blood flowing from wounds in front of goblins. Never! Is it clear to you? - for a better flow of thoughts, they lightly hit my head on the floor. At that moment, I realized that the highest justice still exists. Not more than five minutes ago, I held the Weasleys in this way, and now I myself am lying in his place.

Filius." Gently, in a soothing gesture, Pomona laid her hand on the shoulder of the Dean of Ravenclaw. - Enough.

"Great. She's not comforting me, it's Flitwick. Looks like I just screwed up!"

The goblin, what the hell is "sex" he is, let go of me and stepped a little to the side, and Mrs. Sprout did not make me wait for an explanation:

Those goblin uprisings that you study, - without removing her hand from the half-goblin's shoulder, the dean began her story, - this is exactly what uprisings are. About the true war with the goblins that was even before Merlin, you will find information only in the archives. The victory over the goblins cost people, wizards and Muggles, although wizards are now trying to forget about the latter, rivers, seas and oceans of blood. The war was for a place under the sun, for the survival of the race, that is, for destruction. Our magic was not yet so strong then, the weapons were not suitable for the masterpieces of goblins and dwarves forged on underground fire. The only way we could win was with our blood. Goblins are so bloodthirsty that, having shed blood once, they instantly get drunk from it and cannot stop. They, like a wolf breaking into a sheepfold, will kill, kill, kill and kill until there is nothing alive around. It was thanks to this vice that people won then. Bringing the old and the crippled to the battlefield, substituting them for goblin iron, the warriors themselves remained on the walls. They waited with tears in their eyes. They waited for the goblins, having spilled the blood of atoning sacrifices, to lose their minds and break forward, trying to kill more and more. Intoxicated with blood, they, regardless of losses, climbed onto the castle walls or onto strong human spear formations and perished on them in hundreds. Now the goblins carefully hide this trait of theirs, but there is no need to tease them in vain. To remind goblins, really evil and bloodthirsty creatures, that they can no longer shed blood and conjure, this is the gravest insult. Ancient greeting: "And let the blood of your enemies boil on your hands!" now sounds insulting mockery and a challenge to their self-control. At one time, only the fact that Flitwick was half-human saved him from execution. If a pure-blooded goblin wanted to become a duelist, what is there a "duelist", let's just say: a "combat mage", he would be killed on the spot, - the dean opened my eyes to the reasons for what happened.

I'm sorry, Mr. Crabbe, - the professor apologized, regaining control of himself, but the coldness and arrogance in his voice would be enough for a dozen Snapes. It looks like my relationship with the head of Ravenclaw has soured dramatically now. I hope it's not irreparable.

Your camera, Vince. Settle down and do not deny yourself anything, - Sprout opened the door in front of me.

I went inside the cell. A bucket in the corner, a handful of hay, no windows. Spartan environment and strong magical pressure. The wand, of course, was also taken away. The last light disappeared behind the door closed on the other side by the deans. Rubbing my neck, well, he has a grip, I lay down in a pile of hay.

I was very, very dissatisfied with myself. “Forgotten completely? Someone else’s blood on your hands, like a goblin or something, hit you in the head? You need to be calmer, more modest. Otherwise, either a green-faced or long-bearded one will quickly take you into his hands. And offended Flitwick. What kind of day is this? Damn Weasleys , all troubles from them!"

Unbeknownst to me, I fell asleep. I dreamed about half-naked Davis in a leather BDSM outfit, who harassed me, promising to bring all the other Weasleys to butcher for meat during the night with me. It looks like my hormones are waking up and I'm in for a very difficult time.

They didn't keep me in the dark for long. I managed to get a good night's sleep, get hungry, and once felt my way into the bucket, when the door of my cell opened.

Out," Filch said, flashing the torch in his face.

Silently, without promises to crucify on the cross, rod, vice and chains, Filch and I reached the director's office. The Cabinet has noticeably increased in size, because now there was a very, very representative delegation inside it.

So. All the deans and director were present from the teaching staff; I was surprised to find Hagrid and Quirrell huddled in the corner. Curiously, the Dark Lord seems to have become, in his time this was not the case. From the board of trustees - Lord Malfoy. From Aurora - one-legged Moody. Parents of students: both red-haired Weasleys, looking at me with hatred, and a broad-boned, short, bald brown-haired man with luxurious sideburns. Mr. Crabbe is the eldest, as I learned from memory of Vincent Crabbe's father, that is, now - my father.

There were also students. Eight house prefects and one from Hogwarts, as well as several witnesses to my speech, including all five girls here. There were also a few adult magicians whom neither I nor my memory recognized.

The trial began with a soft persuasive monologue by Headmaster Dumbledore, which, without twisting his sour face, could only be listened to by members of the Order of the Phoenix devoted to Albus to the liver.

Then the floor was given to Madam Pomfrey, who voiced the diagnosis put to Fred Weasley. Translated from medical Latin to normal language, it would appear that Fred has a severe penetrating wound to the abdomen with moderate but treatable damage to the magic core due to my use of a ritual item as a weapon. Mr. Weasley will be in the Hospital Wing for at least a month.

Then they gave the floor to the elder Weasleys. “Poor boys”, “ordinary childish pranks”, “death-eating offspring”, “attempted murder”, “to Azkaban for a Kiss”, “devotion to the cause of light”, “severe injury” and for some reason still “difficult financial situation” poured in. Are they extorting money for silence? Hearing such an open hint even Lord Malfoy grimaced.

Then they gave me the floor. I did not hesitate, and went immediately with trump cards. He told about temporary hemophilia acquired with the help of confectionery products that came out of the crooked hands of these Weasleys (at the same time, my father threw such a furious look at the redheads that it became clear to me whose lives Crabbe Sr. would ask for when Lord Voldemort returned). He went on about hanging almost naked in the Great Hall, about the story of poor Sally-Anne Perks. Even provided memories in the Pensieve.

The head of the board of trustees, Lord Malfoy, having looked at my memories along with everyone else, looked intently at the headmaster. It seems that he did not know the true background of events or knew, but a very much smoothed version.

In the meantime, I finished my story by describing the deal with the Weasleys, the attack, and the attempt to protect the girls.

What did he negotiate with you, Mr. Weasley? - Malfoy asked the Gemini, who had almost lost his mirror-like half.

About nothing we are with him, - Weasley began to answer with pauses for the remarks of his absent brother. - We didn't agree. He just ordered us. Don't touch freshmen. And sophomores. Except the Gryffindors. And on whom should we test our products? We are honest. Experienced it for yourself. At first. But we are few. And we want to open a store after school. Do not pay money for testing?

From such simplicity and greyhound, all listeners were simply taken aback. Even Dumbledore shook his head reproachfully. Looks like Weasleys of all ages are in for a good spanking. Looking at the parents of the students, who had already breathed air into their lungs for a verbal, bye, attack, the headmaster immediately deducted points from Gryffindor. After that, without letting his parents say a word, he began questioning witnesses.

Witnesses fully confirmed my version.

In the end, the high court, after some behind-the-scenes meetings that were held in private by Albus and Lucius, ruled that: "a student of the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Mr. Vincent Logan Crabbe attacked a student of Fred Weasley with the intent of causing serious injury out of personal vengeance using as a pretext the protection of Hogwarts students from unscrupulous and dangerous jokes."

What punishment according to magical laws shone for me with such a wording of the sentence?

Yes, actually - none. I was charged only, in Muggle terms, with exceeding a measure of reasonable self-defense. Weasley Sr. began to hint that the crime of revenge only aggravated the guilt and made the punishment worse, but all the other adults looked at him so disparagingly that he stopped and fell silent. In the magical world, entangled in Unbreakable vows and oaths, revenge was a very natural and respected thing. After all, often not taking revenge on the bloodline meant receiving the seal of a blood traitor.

To condemn is not to condemn, but to punish for such that others were disrespectful, nevertheless it was required. How exactly? There were many offers.

For starters, expel from Hogwarts. At such a proposal from the Weasleys, even the restrained Lord Greengrass (judging by the way Daphne clung to him, it was he) twisted his finger at his temple.

Perhaps, since he loves to fight so much, the boy should change faculty again? suggested Dumbledore.

Never! merged the voices of Deans McGonagall and Sprout in an ecstasy of unity. Both took the hint where the troubled student would go.

I will gladly take it! said Flitwick. It seems that the professor thawed overnight and no longer holds a grudge against me, but no one began to listen to him.

Alastor, do you have anything to say? - Albus turned to his devoted colleague.

Alastor Moody remained silent throughout the proceedings, looking at me and the former Death Eaters unkindly. Apparently, he did not like everything that was happening. Both sides looked very unattractive. Slytherins and ex-death eaters by definition, and the Weasleys by their downright detachment. With such manners, they are dear to the Fierce, that is, in the future, to possible targets for the Aurors. To Dumbledore's question, he only muttered something about Death Eaters and Azkaban, but said nothing distinctly. Consider - said nothing. Percival, who wanted to offer something, was silenced by Albus himself with a casual look. Looks like the redheads have exhausted a year's worth of directorial affection today.

As a relief, Dumbledore asked me if I was sorry about what happened and if I wanted to apologize?

And here, unexpectedly for myself, I broke through.

Do you think I regret something? After they continuously didn't give me life? After they almost killed me? After the Hogwarts Hufflepuff became one less student through their fault? I only regret that I didn't break him a little. Only a month in bed, while the same Sally-Ann could not sleep normally from the transferred horror at all! Only under potions. And if they continue not to comply with our agreement, then I will definitely correct my mistake, and, as promised, I will finish him off. I can swear an oath!

Of course, they didn’t let me take the oath, but all the adults whose children could be seriously injured looked at me with approval.

As a result, the high contracting parties agreed on the following.

They keep me at Hogwarts, but they give me a year of detention with Filch. He just grunted in surprise. Even in his ruthless view of the students, this was too much. "YEAR! I will plow for him for a whole year!" I thought with horror.

Hufflepuff faculty lost all points.

For an attack on students of another faculty from Gryffindor, to the delight of the Slytherins, one hundred points are again removed.

Mr. George Weasley and Mr. Fred Weasley, under threat of immediate expulsion, were forbidden to play pranks on freshmen (first years) from other faculties. Poor, poor Gryffindor.

In the event that the Mr. Weasleys tried to attack Mr. Crabbe Jr., he had the right to self-defense to any reasonable extent. Likewise in the opposite direction.

They agreed not to remember the tragic accident with Sally-Anne anymore, but in order to close the issue completely, to collect a small fine from the Weasley family in favor of the Perks family. Knowing the deplorable state of the budget of a large magical family, this was an elegant revenge on the part of the director for the Weasley's troubles.

The question of my assistants, both of school age and older, was not touched upon at all.

That is, in essence, I escaped with a slight fright. Points - slag, Gryffindor will win this year anyway. I stay at school. Weasley - not a knut. Detention... Detention, yes. This is bad. Now there will be no time left to study in the help-room at all.

The mages left the director's office in small groups. The division was based on political preferences. The neutrals were the first to leave, not forgetting to thank me on behalf of their families for the protection provided to their children. Then the Slytherins left. The Davis family, to the annoyance of the Bulstrodes and, suddenly, Greengrass, took the longest to say goodbye and offered to visit their manor during their summer vacation. Remembering my dream, I shuddered unnoticed by everyone. Carry it, Perhaps yes Heavens. Fuck me, fuck me!

Judging by the fact that Crabbe politely declined, the engagement is still undecided. Phew!

We were the last but one to leave, leaving in the director's office only the magicians personally devoted to him. Moving away from the office a couple of corridors, I could not resist and asked Crabbe Sr. a question. Well, I can’t even think of calling him a father.

How do you feel about ... well, all this? I asked.

He paused, looked sideways at Malfoy walking beside him and replied:

I am dissatisfied with you, son, for this, - and "my" father tightened my tie around my neck with such force, as if he wanted to strangle me on the spot. - But at the same time, I am pleased that even there you remained true to our ideals and abide by the code of honor of the family. Oh, where are the times when the execution of a blood traitor was awarded universal honor ... I'm not very pleased that you saved the hufflepuff ... But I understand you and I'm glad that you understand the important truth that loyalty cannot belong to two overlords. Meanwhile, I am very pleased that I managed to bring up in my son a cunning and thoughtful fighter who is not afraid to defend his interests even in adverse external conditions. In sum ... In sum, I treat everything that happens evenly. Also, your upkeep is now doubled.

By the way, Mr. Crabbe," Lord Malfoy turned to me. - I remember that you had a birthday two weeks ago? - Fuck yourself. How could I forget?! It's that, I prodynamil faculty on prostava? Not good. "Would you mind," Malfoy chuckled slightly at his own words, but politeness is politeness, "to accept this modest purse from me as a gift?" There are fifty galleons.

I looked at Crabbe. He nodded in the affirmative, and I accepted the gift with the proper words of gratitude. But all the solemnity of the situation was destroyed by one remark:

So our shed blood is now well paid? asked the lone Weasley twin, who appeared around the corner.

If you want to earn money, contact me, - I did not go into my pocket for a word.

If you think you got off lightly, - Weasley came up and loomed over me, defiantly pulling out his wand, - then you are mistaken. You will still regret...

But now my blow to the groin turned out just fine! Weasley dropped his wand and crouched into a fetal position, but that wasn't enough for me. My very magic guided me, demanded the blood and death of the Enemy. I leaned over, grabbed the guy by the breasts and brought my head close to his. And, looking straight into his eyes, he yelled:

Well bitch, come on! Right now! I'm ready to regret right now!

Like most petty gopota, Weasley was taken aback by the hard hitting. The solution to the problem must be brought to its logical end. Such scum understands only pain and fear. And if I don't provide them with them, they will provide trouble for me.

Not? Not ready to make me regret? Na, damn it! - and with all my heart I hit Weasley's face with my forehead. There was a little noise in my head, but the second brother's nose turned soft was the best medicine for a concussion.

Lord Malfoy and Crabbe Sr. glanced at the boy writhing on the floor, only nodded approvingly at me and indifferently looked away, as if not noticing anything unusual.

Alastor, I need you urgently! - the headmaster's voice reached us through the magic of Hogwarts.

You are lucky again. But remember, the cameras in Azkaban are still waiting for you. And yours, - Mad-Eye nodded to Crabbe, - a puppy too.

When Lord, Mr. Moody returns, he will finish what was left unfinished ten years ago - I decided not to leave an attack in my direction without an answer. Yes, and to show their commitment to family ideals in front of two stigmatized spectators will be very good. - Have you prepared the second eye and another leg?

That's right, waiting! - Moody twisted with rage and went towards the director's office. Arthur raised his son with a spell and wandered towards the Hospital Wing. He didn't talk about compensation anymore. The battlefield is ours.

Mr. Crabbe, I understand everything, but try to be more restrained. And don't forget your duties towards my son. Debts should be repaid, right? said Malfoy strangely.

Very good, Mr Crabbe. Very good, said a voice. In a branch of the corridor, imperceptible to all, stood leaning against the wall, a professor in a purple turban. It seems that my performance had one more audience than I expected.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions

No good deed will go unpunished. This has to be seen more and more often. About a year and a half ago, a charity marathon was announced and held for the charity marathon, during which we tried to help raise funds for the treatment of seriously ill children of the Republic of Khakassia: Polina Glushkova, Nikita Lunkovsky and Kirill Zhigulin. We “met” with Nikita on the Internet. In one of the social networks, we came across information about a little boy with neuroleukemia. At that time, Nikita was being treated at the Krasnoyarsk Regional Hospital in the Department of Pediatric Oncohematology, and a clinic was being searched abroad. And at that moment, funds were being collected for the boy's treatment, although there was no official invoice from the clinic yet, since the clinic itself had not been found. Our movement, headed by its chairman Maxim Romanenko, joined the fundraising for Nikita. Kirill Zhigulin's mother came to us herself and talked about the problems associated not even with treatment, but with diagnosing the disease of little Kirill. Our movement mainly provided informational support: information was disseminated in the media, leaflets were distributed.

And now we have received a bill for Nikita's treatment. The amount is exorbitant, and time is short. Then it was decided to move on to more decisive action: we decided to hold a fundraising campaign for the baby - a charity concert. The organizer of the concert was OD “We choose life”, but the main work was done, of course, by Maxim. So much effort, moral and physical, was spent on organizing the concert! But he did! We collected about 40 thousand rubles and the next day the money was transferred to the account of Nikita's dad. We have made our small contribution.

A penny from the world, but the required amount was collected, and Nikitka was sent for treatment to Singapore. In the fall of 2011, the boy underwent bone marrow transplantation at a clinic in Singapore, and in April of this year the boy died: a relapse, and a very rapid one at that.

And so the Ministry of Health of the Republic of Khakassia wrote a statement to the prosecutor's office against the leader of the OD "We choose life" Maxim Romanenko. The accusations are ridiculous. The first point of accusation: negative statements about the Ministry of Health. Maxim is blamed for giving a negative assessment of the quality of medical care. Here the following question arises: if someone is dissatisfied with the quality of medical care (and there are many such people) and speaks of his dissatisfaction, does he also risk getting such an answer to his complaints from our own Ministry of Health? As far as I remember, we have freedom of speech and everyone has the right to express their opinion. And it doesn't even matter if it's right or not. For some reason, it seems to me that they just wanted to bite Maxim harder, to “shut up”.

But the farther into the forest, the scarier the tale. The second point of the accusation brought by the Ministry of Health is the misuse of funds ... 9.5 million (the amount that was collected for Nikita's treatment throughout the country). The principle is something like this: they collected money for treatment, but Nikita died anyway, which means Maxim is to blame. That's the most nonsense to hear! Where this exorbitant amount of 9.5 million rubles came from, one can only guess. Just as one is left to guess, what does the Ministry of Health of the Republic of Kharkiv have to do with this whole story with money? And the most important question: what kind of misuse of funds can we even talk about if the money was collected on the accounts of the parents, neither the Movement as a whole, nor Maxim himself collected cash! With the exception of the concert ... But even there the amount was hundreds of times less than the amount that is now presented to Maxim. Yes, and Nikita was treated. Done and paid in full. The fact that the treatment was not carried out by the Singaporean doctors to the end (there was no “nursing” period), the boy was sent home, prescribing drugs, which, by the way, were not administered to the boy upon returning home, although they were bought and available from his mother. Perhaps this is what caused the relapse. And then a legitimate question arises: who is to blame in this situation? Obviously, not Maxim Romanenko. He is "guilty" only in the fact that he cannot get past someone else's misfortune and always tries to help those who need it. Available ways and, please note, quite legal. Yes, and he tried to find a solution to the problems peacefully, he tried to enter into a dialogue with the Ministry of Health, but the Ministry of Health, for some reason, does not go into this dialogue. And it was the Ministry of Health that declared war on Maxim. Probably, in order to live in peace in our country, you just need to sit silently and do nothing, everything else is persecuted. Even in the case when the intentions of a person are the kindest and purest. This is the country we live in...

1) about the constancy of human ingratitude;

2) that the manifestation of the initiative is inevitably fraught with trouble.

• - 1) about the constancy of human ingratitude; 2) that the manifestation of initiative is inevitably fraught with trouble ...

  Live speech. Dictionary of colloquial expressions

• - See TRUE -...
• - A good deed does not melt in water ...

  IN AND. Dal. Proverbs of the Russian people

• - A good deed is strong ...

  IN AND. Dal. Proverbs of the Russian people

• - Good deed forever...

  IN AND. Dal. Proverbs of the Russian people

• - see. Though it's late, it's good ...

  IN AND. Dal. Proverbs of the Russian people

• - See TALK -...

  IN AND. Dal. Proverbs of the Russian people

• - See PRAISE -...

  IN AND. Dal. Proverbs of the Russian people

• - See TALK -...

  IN AND. Dal. Proverbs of the Russian people

• - See TALK -...

  IN AND. Dal. Proverbs of the Russian people

• - See GLASS -...

  IN AND. Dal. Proverbs of the Russian people

• - See WELL -...

  IN AND. Dal. Proverbs of the Russian people

• - See GOOD - MERCY -...

  IN AND. Dal. Proverbs of the Russian people

• - Petrozav. Matchmaking. SRNG 8, 80...
• - who. Psk. Approval About a skillful, dexterous person. SPP 2001, 35...

  Big dictionary of Russian sayings

• - noun, number of synonyms: 1 nothing ...

  Synonym dictionary

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46. ​​Exercise "One good deed"

From the book The Lessons of Og Mandino. 17 laws of the greatest success in the world author Field Alexander

46. ​​Exercise "One Good Deed" Add a mandatory item to your daily plan: helping your neighbor. You can do more than one good deed per day. But one is the minimum. There are a lot of people around you who need your support, compassion or a very specific

1.2. Simple should stay simple

From the book Interface: New Directions in Computer System Design author Ruskin Jeff

1.2. Simple should remain simple Technology is a strange thing. With one hand she gives you great gifts, and with the other she stabs you in the back. C. P. Snow (quoted from Jarman, 1992) Despite the growth in the number of interface developers, few consumers claim that

There is a saying that no good deed goes unpunished. And they say that all stupid things are done solely from noble intentions. Probably the first time in my life I seriously thought about it. As well as the fact that my prioritization is fundamentally wrong.
Judge for yourself: on Wednesday I was going to be at a luxurious concert of April birthdays in the "Aista" on Serpukhovskaya. All, without exception, are people of great talent, I communicate warmly with everyone, so I really wanted to come to listen to them, congratulate them personally. But ... after running half a day at work, tired, I was afraid to go, because at 12 on Thursday I was to perform at the Zhulebino Center for Concerts, where the poet Nina Zavadskaya invited me. Until yesterday, meetings at the Social Service Centers were sacred to me. How! After all, those gather there who have even "more fun" in the world than me.
Since the concert was spontaneously rescheduled a week early, there was no time to prepare. I sat all night until five in the morning, until my head began to burst. I measured the pressure - they sailed, as they say. I lay down with the firm intention of waiting until nine in the morning and calling the organizer Nina to say, like Stepa Likhodeev, they say, shoot me. and unable to get up. But by nine my conscience got stuck. And I ended up going.
I froze for half an hour waiting for the bus, then I drove long and tediously to the Vykhino metro station. Then I shook for about fifteen minutes until the rest of the participants gathered. The endlessly long walk to the CSO reminded me of the phrase: "The bathhouse is 700 kilometers around the corner." And here we are! HURRAH! Warmly! We go inside and immediately encounter employees who are perplexed and sternly looking at us.
- And you, actually mud, hto?! Where? To whom? What kind of concert is this?
To be honest, I immediately wanted to go back to the air from such a meeting. There is no poster at all. There is no one in the hall. Zavadskaya goes to sort it out, and after a while a certain young man appears, who was only informed that there would be some kind of Zavadskaya, but apparently they forgot to explain with whom and why. "Will the people gather?" - we are timidly interested. - "Well .... someone will come ... they all come to the free lunch..." The prospect of waiting for "someone" until lunch was not inspiring. The man offers to warm up with tea: "Do you have one bag for all or what?" I also got sick of tea. Three of my companions, apparently not as corrosive as I am, are calmly drinking tea with cookies, and I am waiting for the start of this unorganized action in every sense.
Finally we pass into an empty room. Three persons. I'm trying to be funny. that a real artist and for one viewer will fully work out the program. I recall such an episode from the biography of either Dementiev or Voznesensky ... And then I hear a sharp, rough voice:
- Well, why do we need this tambourine of yours? Boo-boo ... boo-boo ... Ass is already tired of sitting on YOUR lectures. We sing, dance hunting ...
And then an angry speech, the essence of which boils down to the phrase "What's the point?!"
Since childhood, I have performed at various venues. The most different level. And in kindergartens, and in orphanages, and in schools, and in Administrations, and on cable and Central TV, and in cafes, and in restaurants, and in theaters, and in concert halls .... We have long come to terms with the fact that most of our concerts are free. We perform to give people joy and to be charged by the very energy of the hall. We are accustomed to the fact that, in fact, poets and bards, musicians and performers returned to the conditions of the Middle Ages, when impoverished minstrels and troupes roamed the yards. contented with charity. But to get such a spit in the walls of the institution. where supposedly socially unprotected people gathered?!...
If I were the leader of the group. I would definitely leave. But I was only a guest poet. therefore, she pulled herself together and stayed out of respect for Nina and the young poetesses. for whom any access to any public is happiness. We did have a concert. Personally, despite the applause, I did not feel the return of the audience. Well-fed, indifferent, accustomed to free concerts, faces ...
The girls went to eat impressions at a pizzeria. and I dragged myself an hour and a half way back, praying to God not to get sick! When at home, shaking under the covers right in my clothes (neither hot tea with honey nor cognac helped), I told this story to my son, not choosing words or expressions on emotions, I already clearly understood that I would not come to my senses until the evening, which means that the hope of consoling yourself in the talented circle of friends of the Salon of Creativity, where you wanted to go in the evening, is futile.
As a result, I did not go to two meetings where I wanted to be and where I would meet like-minded people, from whom I never tire of learning, who, I dare to hope. I'm glad. In the name of what?!
My friend, a talented poetess, actress, singer, was right, who just recently told me: “That's why I don’t perform at the CSO! Not only do they not pay money. Not only are there few spectators. extremely inconvenient for a working person. So they also sit in the hall, fed up with freebies, skeptical people. Someone speaks - they like it. I pass "

They say, do good to people, and it will come back to you many times over. Many do this, believing, sometimes quite erroneously, that in our world, as in a children's fairy tale, good always triumphs over evil.

In real life, often human vices take over, and sometimes it turns out, not like in a fairy tale, but like in a joke.

An expensive car arrived in a remote village. A man of respectable appearance comes out of it and goes to the poorest hut on the outskirts of the village. At the grandmother who came out to meet him, he asks:

- Do you remember, grandmother, many years ago you sheltered, fed and warmed an orphan in a tattered coat?

“Of course I do, dear man.

So, it's me, grandma. I came to you for a coat.

Here are 8 examples of such situations when the good should have returned, but was delayed on the way or completely lost its way.

1. A laptop is not a luxury, but a means of raising young children.

2. The eleventh commandment says: whoever does not give the phone, be damned.

3. The phone is good, but the iPhone is better. I would learn to swear cooler with him.

4. From point A to point B, bags were to be delivered with pleasure in exchange for bags of food. Did not work out...

5. It is a pity that the husband was not a pilot, the plane would have been by the way.