04/06/1992
Bright sunny days with winter snow gave way to grayness and slush. Nevertheless, it was spring grayness and spring slush. Everything spoke of the steadily approaching warm season. Even the air was different. It was only necessary to wait a couple of weeks and one could enjoy the first greenery and truly warm sun. The world would be transformed, unlike that bright, but still winter picture.
The city lived its new and not quite normal life: American flags were visible in the distance above the market rows, somewhere in the distance another helicopter roared.
The helicopters, including those two that had really tickled the nerves, were now based at the old airport, which was just a dirt, uncovered field and a group of squat outbuildings. The garrison, to which the aviation belonged, also succumbed to this American-strike hysteria and, in fact, went on an open mutiny.
But a couple of years ago they celebrated May Day. Of course, they laughed to themselves, in their kitchens, at the meaningless, artificially whipped-up celebration, but it was still much better than what happened later. And the home part, the home celebration was quite sincere. If only there was a reason. In general, it was possible to live without changing the red banner rituals, even if not like abroad. And now...
Bragin's thoughts were interrupted by a UAZ-tablet, energetically driving out from somewhere in a five-story courtyard. At that time, Bragin was just crossing the road-exit. A man got out of the car and headed definitely towards him. Everything looked as if the man who got out of the car simply recognized his long-unseen acquaintance, and now was in a hurry to approach him, greet him and exchange a few phrases. The stranger who finally spoke called Bragin by his first name and patronymic, then called him again by his last name and rank. From under his jacket, as if furtively, an ID appeared.
Bragin smiled sadly.
- I didn't think there was anything left, - he answered. The last time I was at a training camp was in '87 and that was it. And now... What country are we in anyway? This is a joke, but seriously, I can't describe what's happening without swearing.
In the car where Bragin got in without saying a word, there were two more besides the driver. They were dressed in somewhat ridiculous, although somewhat popular, down jackets.
- What is your opinion about what's happening. What's happening since April 1st - one of them, looking a little older, asked right away. In response, Bragin shook his head in a characteristic way - during such a gesture, they usually give some good obscene tirade, but Bragin did it silently - however, it should have been clear to everyone.
- First of all - he began anyway, - I am surprised, I have been surprised since the first day. It seems to me that this prank served as a kind of fuse. If what he wanted to set on fire had not been set on fire, we would not even remember it. I mean, he set fire to something unhealthy in people. Well, there is an expression, mass psychosis. I thought that it was just such an expression, but here it worked. That is my opinion.
- And how do you feel about actually becoming a US citizen? Well, moving, for example. I am not talking about what is happening now, but in general. Many people are leaving. Just answer honestly, it is not difficult - now are different times.
Here a mischievous thought flashed through Bragin's mind. It was mischievous, half-joking, as if they were American spies. However, the question was quite relevant to the situation. Bragin slightly grimaced, wondering where to begin his answer.
- You see... - he began. That they are leaving - that's true. But for that you need to be...
An option immediately came to Bragin's mind to name some Jewish surname. Everyone would understand, give this example, without even implying any anti-Semitism. Just like that... However, his consciousness immediately found other options.
- To do that, you have to be some kind of scientist-programmer. A programmer, yes... Invent Tetris... Or else... Be a dissident poet. A famous one, persecuted by the previous government and known to everyone. That's the kind of person they need there. A Tetris programmer will create another one of his own, I'm simplifying. A poet will just be accepted. He'll probably perform. And I have a family like everyone else, children, parents... Maybe a great programmer can relocate family, I don't know...
The person who asked the question listened silently, nodding vigorously every now and then. Not like the boss listening to the answer, but as if they were both sitting at a table in a pub or even somewhere in the yard.
- Do you have any examples from life? Well, acquaintances? - asked the second of those sitting in the car.
Yes! I do, but about something else, - Bragin answered quite vigorously, as if in a casual friendly conversation.
- I had a German friend. He was - I mean he relocated, he is now. We studied together. But he was German and he went to Germany. There, you see, the whole family had been Germans all their lives – they even spoke German at home. Their grandmothers and great-grandmothers taught them. That's how it was with them. And he probably spent about five years with this idea. That was when the GDR//East Germany// was still in existence. They wanted to go to the FRG, of course. And they left. And so… To go to America, you have to be… A student programmer, but a good one. Well, a future scientist of some sort. Not a future "associate professor"//comic character of stupid scientist from soviet movies and folklore// – Bragin's mouth twisted at the word "associate professor", – But a truly valuable scientist. Then yes, that's the option. But in general, I never even thought about America. I read stories about Germany – I received a few letters – yes, it's impressive, and America… Well, that's how it was.
- Okay, we understand, - the one who spoke to Bragin on the street answered, - You say you were at the training camp in 1987?
- Exactly.
- You are being called up for another training camp. Arrival tomorrow at ten o'clock.
- Didn't get it? Getting ready?
For a few seconds Bragin considered how to politely send these guests away from the past that had suddenly made itself known. Or rather, not so much sending them away as conveying the feeling of the absurdity of their notification.
- You know, - he began, - There's something absurd happening around here - that's true. But getting ready. What's the name of the committee now? FSK? Of course, I still have my ID, but it's old. When the reorganization happened, no one even called me to change my ID. I thought that was it... And even before that...
- We have old IDs too - the one who spoke on the street answered.
- And where will these getting ready be held?
- Within the city limits, - the second one named the address.
- That's the Industrial Zone, warehouses, - answered Bragin, who had an idea of where that street was.
- Exactly. There are railroad sidings there. You arrive at ten o'clock. The transport situation is poor now, and even on normal days you have to walk there, so here's some extra time. You'll see a standing train on the way. A TEM-2 diesel locomotive, blue. The number... - he named a three-digit number, - Plus, the route will be, how should I say... a through route, not going to the gate, so you won't get confused. You'll see it from afar. You'll pass by, and a man will meet you - he nodded towards the driver.
The driver, who by that time had stopped moving and shaking along the potholes of yet another slushy yard, turned around. He was a strong bald man of about fifty. He looked like a driver. Well, if he wanted, if he were an actor, he probably could have easily portrayed a new-fangled bandit-racketeer - after all, they weren't all young.
- At ten o'clock? - Bragin asked again. - Yes sir, - the second one answered and repeated the locomotive number. - At work, of course... Everything will be as it should be - the department hasn't gone anywhere and will organize everything. The person who met him was already opening the door.