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Summer in the village

Painting, 2014, 77.5×76 cm

Description of the artwork «Summer in the village»

Stepnyak - murderer, terrorist,
The chief gendarmes who decided:
- I Kravchinsky, a socialist!
And in the pub, under the London roof.


Facts are a great thing! But, like everyone else, they decay and come into complete disrepair.
The historical truth is the second hump of one-humped camel.
Everyone learns history from school, but few know it, and even less - think about it.
History is born with a man and dies with him.

But from the classics:
"The less true the story, the more it gives pleasure." Francis Bacon.
"History is a novel in which one believes, a novel is a history in which one does not believe." Moritz Safir.
"Well-written historical novels cost more history courses." Honore de Balzac.
"A brilliant story is rarely completely true," - Samuel Johnson.
"History is an art gallery where there are few originals and many copies." Alexis de Tocqueville.


Many stories begin with the word "Once ...". Moreover, a larger number could be completed on this - the intrigue will remain.
I'll try to develop.
Once...
One day, early July morning, the phone rang deafeningly. While I was getting out of sleep, while I tried to understand what was happening, while I got up and went to the sound, the phone was yelling, howling and deafeningly screaming.
- Yes. Hello. Who is it?
- Who, who, horse in a coat! Are you sleeping And the dawn is already rinsed! And the fish is already beating and trembling! A companion with all attendant waiting since yesterday! Come urgently. Urgently going fishing. Right now. Quickly collect gear. The rest is not required - everything is there. We wait!
First, complete bewilderment. What kind of fishing ?! What kum ?! Five in the morning! Another subway does not go. Still all people (normal!) Sleep.
Then a quiet morning pond appears. Boat in the reeds. The first bite. First, trembling on the hook bream. Evening dawn. Ukha. The first glass. Conversation by the fire.
And you, chasing the remnants of sweet sleep, climb into the pantry, look for, littered with various unnecessary trash, fishing rods, old shorts, panama and quickly think, remembering what else they usually take with them for big fishing. And you call a taxi. And you stand under the porch in the morning freshness of the beginning day. And, like a hunting dog, taking a stand, all in anticipation of the prey and a successful joyful day.
All the way in the car, without stopping, you tell the driver, tired in the night shift, about the charms of country fishing. The driver, yawning, is silent and smokes one cigarette after another. I want to fervently offer him to drop everything and flounce together in the wilderness, to the water, to the fire, to happy and fun fishing.
But the good idea does not have time to fully mature - profits.
I go up to the second floor. I call. The door is opened by the hostess in a flowered dressing gown and hair curlers twisted on luxurious hair.
- And the owner is also in a bathrobe?
- Come in, come in. The owner already have breakfast. Join us
I put in a corner a case with fishing rods, a package with an unknown than the accompanying one and join.
Slowly have breakfast. In this house, everything is done slowly. With analysis, thoughtfully and thoroughly. Even if you are in a hurry.
- Where we go? - I ask the owner.
It should be a description of the beauty, local attractions, hospitality, diversity and size of fish in a big bet. You can catch from the shore, from the boat, on the bait, on the bottom and on the spinning. And if that (for example, the weather turns bad), then you can not catch -
- The godfather always has a fish. And crayfish. And everything else.
“Maybe we can get some beer?”
- And everything else is there! Not understood?!
Beginning 11. We still have breakfast.
- Maybe it's time? - I ask after the third cup of tea.
Half an hour later, the owner slowly gets up and goes out into the yard to feed the poultry. The hostess puts food in the basket. "On the track". Judging by the number, the road will be long. After another half an hour, putting the tackle, rubber boat, basket and packages with the unknown, we leave the car slowly. A peacock runs across the road in front of the gate. "This is for big fish." - Says the owner. "Well, that is not a penguin." - I think.
As far as we slowly, slowly began the day, we moved so quickly. The speed on the highway was at least 120 km per hour. "Where to hurry already?" - I think lazily and close my eyes.
Through slumber I hear the question: "Will you pull a hundred grams per walkway?" Mistress rustles wrappers and serves a slice of rye with bacon and a clove of garlic. Pours into a plastic cup. I drink slowly, trying not to spill a lukewarm liquid. "Well, fishing has begun." - I tell myself, feeling the pleasant warmth of the accepted. Drinking alone is boring, but alone in the presence of a longtime drinking companion is mean. But I do not have the strength to evaluate and come to conclusions. Yes, and a drinking companion behind the wheel!
After the third glass I am disconnected.
I open my eyes. Cost It's getting dark. In the car, no one. Dryness and nausea in the mouth. Trying to figure out where, why, and for what reason? I remember: godfather and fishing. Where is the godfather, where is the fishing and where am I? First thoughts: forgot, abandoned, fishing without me! I jump up, open the car door. The neck is numb and turns poorly. Trying to crawl out of the car. From under the legs shy away with a deafening quacking of chickens. The door from the white hut opposite opens and enters the threshold, illuminated by bright light from the corridor, an overweight, mustache man. The details of the face, because of the contour pattern, are not easily distinguishable. You can clearly see the embroidery and bare feet.
- Yeah, here's another fisherman prokynuvshis. Zdorovenki buly, shanovny! And we here with your friend, the guests, died the third. Rest down, be caress. Climb out and shy away. And then godfather kazhe: "And sho is this David David ignore my sufferings? Not Yive, but ignore it. Pass, let us caress, we shall have supper."
In the hut brightly lit and crystal chandelier is poured. Under it is a solid-sized table, covered with embroidered bright colors on the edges, a snow-white tablecloth. On it ... "the rich in those and glad." And rich in this house to many. Apotheosis in the middle of the table is roasted piglet and a huge stuffed carp near an incredible size. The rest is indescribable.
Many unfamiliar faces of both sexes. Everyone seems genuinely happy to see me. It seems they just missed me. Seated next to the owner. I guess that this is the targeted godfather.
Immediately pour a full glass. Pour a plate full of food. The owner of the hut rises and says: "Roads are Pani and Panov, let the vacant people be grafted with us as a dear guest and be thrown to a good fishing trip!"
Everyone got up and knocked over. I tried not to finish my drink, they politely didn't allow me with jokes. "The first, - they say, - can not be reduced in any manner."
After the first one they drank godfather, godfather, guests and fishing. Then the songs went out to the air. The air was fresh, and the space lurched and wanted to lie down directly on the grass. What I probably realized.
I woke up on the veranda from the sun and flies shining in my eyes. Dryness and nausea in the mouth. In search of a drink wandered into the upper room. There, languidly talking to each other, sat the godfather, my friend and two new visitors. They slowly drank and, dipping pancakes in sour cream, ate.
- Good wounds, shanny! Yak spalosya? Chanting fishing dreamed of? Pass, be caress, we will snit.
At the mere thought that I was being poured a full glass again, I shuddered. He asked to wash off his sleep first, hoping to get lost somewhere. Washbasin was behind me ...
Then there was a second wind, then the next, then we loaded into the car and drove to the godfather godfather to the other end of the village. There we were waited carefully. There was a bucket of boiled crayfish, beer and everything else. We sat in the garden under a huge lime tree. But even in the shadow of its mighty branches it was hot. The space was tilting and I wanted to lie down directly on the grass. What I probably realized.
Memory pulls out separate frames from the remnants of consciousness. Somewhere I ride in a motorcycle stroller. Shooting from a shotgun in bottles. Night, bonfire, barbecue, swimming in the lake in which the mother. Women sing thoughtful songs from the other side. White horse in the morning mist. Well with almost mineral water ... And ... an endless stream of toasts and toasts.
And in every frame smiling in mustache kum. There was an impression that he never slept and could drink and eat with everyone and always.

On the third day I got very sick. I was completely transportable and there was no way to go home.
And sho do? Do not stay the same ?! Another day of such a "fishing" and I will come to a complete end.
Gathered with the last forces, plunged into the car.
Dear through the tortured consciousness was seen Kum. He moved his mustache and wistfully looked towards the lake. There, large fish splashed and coastal reeds rustled gently. In the reeds, in a rubber boat, I sat and stuffed a huge bream into the cage. With a mustache...
$3,500.00
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About the artwork

This artwork has been added by Arthive user, if it violates copyright please tell us.

Art form: Painting

Subject and objects: Portrait

Style of art: Realism

Technique: Oil

Materials: Canvas

Date of creation: 2014

Size: 77.5×76 cm

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