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Masha Traub Dear vacationers! Dear vacationers, read Traub online.

Masha Traub Dear vacationers! Dear vacationers, read Traub online.

Masha Traub

Dear vacationers!

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All characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people living or who have lived is purely coincidental.

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- Ilyich, where should I put it?

- Put it on my head!

- So I don’t care, I can do it on my head! How long can you move around with these chairs - take them here, bring them here. Am I hired to carry chairs?

- Hired! Take it to the yard!

- I brought it from the yard!

- Ask Galya. She knows where to put it.

- Galina Vasilievna! Where are the chairs? I'll leave it here now!

- I'll leave them. Put it on my head!

- Ilyich, my vacationers take away my keys and don’t hand them over. I tell them – rent it out, I’ll clean it up, but they don’t rent it out. I can't go into the room. They then complain that they didn’t take out the trash or wipe the floors. So I'm sorry, or what? I understand that people want to return to something pure. So, do I have to fit into the window? How am I without keys? Let's make some spare ones. Why am I the most worried about these keys? From the fifth there is only one left. Ilyich, do you hear? From the fifth, I say, one. If anything happens, we will break down the door. I put up a sign for them, as you ordered - a fine for loss. So why should they look at the sign! And why do they need signs? People have come to relax! I want it to be clean, so that people are happy, but they are not happy. I tell them about the keys, and they tell me about the garbage. Well, I’m watching over them anyway. So you can’t keep track of everyone – who came when, who left. What if the children are small? So you need to clean it up before lunch. So that the child can sleep. Ilyich, let's make duplicates. Well, how much can you ask for? And the window needs to be repaired on the second floor. It whips back and forth. I put a piece of paper under it, but it still breaks. The frame is already on the snot. It will flop once and fall on someone’s head. What if it’s a child, God forbid? They're in the yard all the time!

- Nastya! Why were you hired? For you to clean up! So clean it up! If you have any questions about keys and cleaning, tell Galina Vasilyevna! About the window - to Fedya.

- What about Fedya? Just a little - Fedya is extreme! I repaired the frame. I’ve said it a hundred times, there’s no point in tugging and flailing around! As soon as Nastya crashes, any frame will fall off. If you press gently, it will close!

- Ilyich, I’m not throwing around! Everything has been in snot there for a long time. As it was, so it remains. Fedya's hands are from the same place. There are some men who are armless! Ilyich! Let's call a normal locksmith! Yes, even Mishka!

- Call your Mishka. He's been drinking for a week now.

- And all you have to do is scratch your tongue! Get the chairs out of the yard! Ilyich, what’s with the keys? I’m already watching the vacationers like a partisan. They shy away from me. I'll just clean it up.

– Where is Galina Vasilievna? Galya! Galya!

This conversation took place in a small courtyard in front of the building, which was now called a hotel, but had previously been a boarding house, even earlier an apartment building, and even earlier a private house.

They built a private house for themselves, for their family, numerous children of different ages, aunts with low blood pressure, uncles with bronchi, cousins with nerves and cousins with gambling debts. A gardener specially sent from the capital was responsible for the mulberry tree, which the nervous cousin loved so much, oleander bushes, tiny palms and chestnut trees. Two cypress trees were specially planted on the terrace under the windows for the head of the family, who, however, never saw them. Just like your own private home. The head of the family suffered from heartache and lay in his chambers in the capital while the gardener conjured the cypress trees - would they take root? The cypress trees took root, but the owner of the house passed on to another world.

The widow decided to turn the estate into an apartment building, which caused a lot of gossip among numerous relatives. But the prospect of income turned out to be more desirable than the useless memory of the deceased. The widow, who during her husband’s life had not interfered with repairs and other household matters, suddenly discovered, out of nowhere, a business streak and started a grandiose renovation, deciding to install running water into the house and a completely unprecedented excess and luxury - sewerage.

People quickly started talking about the apartment building. And the rooms were not empty. The widow became so rich that her late husband was turning over in his grave. The relatives were all silent, thanked and smiled. They also suffered from income. The widow suddenly became a wealthy woman and again a rich bride. The unmarried cousins wanted to say something, but they bit their tongues. It was unprofitable to quarrel with the widow.

And one could already begin to guess what would happen next, who the widow would eventually marry, if not for the new order. The widow was the first to feel that “the business smells of kerosene,” as they would say in Soviet times, and donated the apartment building to the needs of the revolution. The cousins believed that it was not for free, but for a decent amount. Then they began to take it away and nationalize it, but the widow managed to sell it. Otherwise, how could she have settled in Paris with her new husband? The lady turned out to be cunning. But you can’t tell by looking at it. Where did that come from? But before she was quiet, inconspicuous.

After the revolution, the house was regularly shaken. He had seen a lot in his lifetime - both street children for whom a school was set up here, and prominent figures who came here to take a break from government affairs. Then there was a kindergarten, a hospital, for some time a distant dacha for the authorities, a nearby dacha, again a kindergarten and, if you believe the gossip, a visiting house. For several years the house stood abandoned, forgotten, drooping, of no use to anyone.

Already in late Soviet times, they remembered about the house and decided to use it where it was not needed, but seemed to be worth it, because there seemed to be nowhere else. Government officials preferred another boarding house, a new building was built for the hospital, and the kindergarten settled in another new building. After some debate, the house with a difficult fate was declared the House of Creativity. So to speak, for cultural workers in a broad sense. Artists, musicians, writers, journalists and other creative workers could get a trip here. In one place and under conditional supervision.

The interiors and exterior of the house, which received a proud name, have changed dramatically, nothing can be done about it. First of all, there were signs on the walls. The passion for signs and posters was simply amazing at that time. Allowed, prohibited, rules of conduct. It's funny to remember now. Young people don’t understand at all. And before they understood - the daily routine, the building is open from start to finish. “Visiting by strangers without a residence permit is prohibited.” “It is strictly forbidden to remove bedding from the building.” “The TV in the hall is turned off by the attendant at 23.00.” “Bedtime at 23.00. Administration". “Close the doors to the building. Administration". “Before leaving, hand over your room to the administrator on duty. Administration".

Mythical authority. Strict and punitive. Oh, young people don’t know anything, but the older generation remembers. Therefore, he obeys. We went on a spree after eleven - that's it, the doors were locked. And even if you knock or break in, they won’t let you in. Okay, if the room is on the first floor, then you can climb over the balcony. Or beg the duty officer, on your knees, and promise that it will be the first and last time. Depending on their temperament and life experience, residents had their own ways of violating prohibitions and appeasing the strict punitive deity called “Administration.” Someone was banging on the door with a bottle of wine and a chocolate bar, someone was rustling banknotes, someone was causing a scandal so that everyone could hear. Creative intelligentsia, what can we take from it? And they take it out, and don’t hand it over, and don’t go to bed on time.

Galya, Galochka, Galina Vasilyevna, Galchonok - as soon as the vacationers called her - she always left the door ajar. You just need to push a little. And she came across understanding people - they came in quietly, on tiptoe, carefully closing the door so that it wouldn’t accidentally slam. Fedya, when he was on duty, locked the gate with all the locks. People shook the iron door, at first delicately, then persistently, hitting the bars with stones, but he sat in his nook at the post, behind a chintz curtain, and did not open it. He liked to show power. Then he opened it, of course, but with such a special favor. Before this, he also shouted loudly so that everyone could hear: “Who are the rules written for? Written for everyone! I won't open it! We have order! And don’t knock!” Then, of course, he opened it, because they started shouting from the balconies: “Let them in already!” How can?" The gate, although iron, naturally could not withstand the nightly torment. The dog flew off, and the castle was held on his word of honor. Galya suggested leaving the door unrepaired so that people could come and go freely. Not only vacationers, but also everyone who wants to sit in the courtyard under the cypress trees, in the shade, in the cool.

- Let strangers in? – Fyodor was indignant, as if we were talking about his own living space.

Fedya whined, made trouble, went to Ilyich every day and ended up eating his bald spot. But that was later, one might say quite recently. A few seasons ago. Ilyich decided not to repair the entrance gate, as Galya wanted - let them come in, let them sit, but he gave permission to install an iron door with a combination lock at the entrance to the building itself, as Fyodor requested. The entrance was considered black, but it was actively used, especially by children who ran around the yard and then rushed to the toilet, risking peeing along the way. But Fedya said that if strangers decide to come in and steal something, then he warned. The door was installed. And a combination lock. The first two days after installation, Fedor was happy. Just in seventh heaven. He walked and glowed. Since it was his shift and the vacationers, who habitually entered through the lockless gate into the yard, were stuck in bewilderment in front of yet another iron door with a code. And again I had to look for a stone and knock on the bars. And Fedya loomed outside the door and enjoyed: “Who are the rules written for? No entry after eleven! Administration!"

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All characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people living or who have lived is purely coincidental.

* * *

- Ilyich, where should I put it?

- Put it on my head!

- So I don’t care, I can do it on my head! How long can you move around with these chairs - take them here, bring them here. Am I hired to carry chairs?

- Hired! Take it to the yard!

- I brought it from the yard!

- Ask Galya. She knows where to put it.

- Galina Vasilievna! Where are the chairs? I'll leave it here now!

- I'll leave them. Put it on my head!

- Nastya! Why were you hired? For you to clean up! So clean it up! If you have any questions about keys and cleaning, tell Galina Vasilyevna! About the window - to Fedya.

- Call your Mishka. He's been drinking for a week now.

– Where is Galina Vasilievna? Galya! Galya!

- Let strangers in? – Fyodor was indignant, as if we were talking about his own living space.

But Fedorov's happiness did not last long. Galya, who took over, gave out a code that turned out to be indecently simple - “two-four-six” to all vacationers. The children quickly learned to press the buttons, on both sides. The buttons were on the inside, that is, the door could only be opened from the inside. But the children twisted their arms, pushed, opened and let everyone through. The adults also learned to blindly place their fingers in the right places and entered without hindrance.

When Fyodor took his shift, at first he didn’t even realize that all his efforts had gone down the drain - no one shouted or knocked on the door. And when I saw how vacationers deftly, sticking their hand between the bars, pressed the code, he fell into hysterics. There was still hope for the new residents, to whom the old ones did not have time to convey the secret knowledge about the code. And no one argued before, no one shook the rights. And now?

- Are we living here for free? We came to rest. You make money like in Europe. And the service is a scoop,” the man on vacation once became furious, “Listen, you, I’m the boss here for a week.” And I will walk, bring, carry, carry, as many and as whom I want. And you make me like it here. Understood?

- They are indignant! - Fyodor muttered. - So let them go there, then why are they coming to us? And if they refuse, then this is not Europe!

Yes, not Europe. Narrow streets, created for tiny cars, bicycles, mopeds and other small-sized equipment, squeezed in SUV jeeps, gazelles bringing food, Mercedes with wide rears and trucks delivering bricks for the construction of new private houses. Because what we have here is not the same as what they have. Our Gazelle is our main car!

Cars drive along the embankment. Some people press the horn, some don't. Under the wheels there are children, balls, mothers, more children and more balls. Surprisingly, not a single accident. Children and balls are safe and sound. At the top, at the beginning of the embankment, you need to turn around on a tiny spot where cars are already parked. Or take a detour, along a road designed for one car, catching your mirrors on the wall. The locals, they drive with their eyes closed, drive backwards in such a way that you’ll admire them. If someone is stuck and struggling and cannot leave, it’s definitely a newcomer. And then up again, where else? ́ same. And here the count goes down to millimeters. All local drivers are millimeters. There is no other way. It also happens that they stand up and block the street with cars. Vacationers squeeze along the walls of houses. And the drivers stand there and chat about life and the weather. Italy, sort of. Those who have been to Italy say that it is exactly the same there as here. So it's actually no worse than in Europe.

About bedding - a very necessary point. These are now beddings for every taste. And before? Well, vacationers also carried blankets from their beds to the beach, and they also stole woolen blankets! They spread it out, press it down with pebbles on four sides and lie down to sunbathe. On the one hand, it’s comfortable - soft, the pebbles don’t cut into your back. On the other hand, it’s hot and stinging from such bedding. You can’t lie down for long - you have to run into the sea again, so that you can rinse yourself off from the sweat that immediately appears when you lie on wool. The girls endure it - they lie there until the last moment, until the blanket begins to float so much that there is no urine, and the skin turns red. Then, after the beach, with a blanket it’s just torture - the salt makes you feel like a stake, you don’t have enough strength to rinse on your hands. It becomes unbearable. No, some desperate girls tried to wash it - they put a blanket in the shower tray and poured it on top. Only then how to squeeze it out? You won't be able to overcome it. By the time you drag it to the balcony, the entire floor is wet. On the balcony it’s ankle-deep. The water flows from the blanket not in a stream, but in a deep stream. In general, anyone who has ever tried to wash a blanket knows. Hands remember.

And the smell. Yes, how can you forget about the smell that immediately begins to exude from a wet wool blanket? Having absorbed a whole bouquet - from cigarette smoke and dried fish (yes, last season, vacationers cut fish on a blanket) to the aroma of perfume, which cannot be evaporated by anything (the season before last, the man could not explain to his wife who suddenly appeared why the room stank desperately someone else's woman), - when the blanket is soaked, it begins to give away everything at once. And here the especially sensitive ones cannot resist. My eyes are starting to water.

So what to do with the ill-fated blanket? Fold it and put it away in the closet, preferably on the top shelf, and let the cleaning lady sort it out later. What should the cleaning lady do? You can’t put it in the washing machine - the drum doesn’t pull, and it doesn’t fit. Dry cleaning only. Dry cleaning is available upon request, with the permission of the director. The director has no time for blankets; he has plenty of other worries. So the blanket is hung in the corner of the yard, to fry, in the sun, beaten out with a stick, or even a broom. It gets rained on and fried again. If stains remain, they are not visible - the blankets are brown.

And why, pray tell, are blankets in season? It's hot. You can die. In the evening the coolness is welcome. At least you can cool down at night. But according to the package, there is a blanket in the room. Yes, and you come across some frozen ladies - they want to hide.

But that's okay. Let them take cover if they want, but why drag them to the beach? And they drag! On the embankment, you can buy everything from straw rugs and towels. At least buy a mattress and lie there as long as you want. Very comfortably. But no, they still drag blankets. Several times carpet runners were taken out onto the beach. Well, what kind of people are they? They put a path down, a government towel on top and lie there. They feel good, but then what about the track? Small stones stick, the vacuum cleaner swallows them, chokes and breaks. You can't get enough vacuum cleaners. It would be nice if they wiped themselves off, but no.

But they complain that the shower drain is clogged. There is water in the pan. Of course it's worth it, how not to stand? They lather up their hair and the drain becomes clogged. Why wash your hair every day? Can't it be once a week? It's harmful when every day. Everyone knows what is harmful. There are few hairs, but also stones and sand. Is there no way to chicken out in advance? It's your own fault. And they still complain. And don’t you dare contradict them. They are on a voucher, the money has been paid.

Still, there was more order before. People who understand. So you write them an announcement: “Close the door after entering the room!” - and they close. Not all, of course, but the majority. Or: “Before entering the dormitory, take a piss!” And they also understand. They'll dry off.

And now? Write it on their forehead - they don’t care. You politely ask: close the door - but they don’t bat an eyebrow. They are also insulted - they say, you are the servant here, you should close the doors.

Nastya swears a lot at the door. She really has a thing. If someone closes it, she will even smile and take out the trash early. And if they don’t close it, Nastya can’t help herself - she’s obliged to clean up, but she doesn’t clean up. He fumbles with a rag and leaves. Nastya has two definitions for women - an asshole and a neat one. And it’s not clear which is worse. If things are scattered, it’s an asshole; if they are put away, Nastya is also unhappy. She loves to look at outfits. Especially among the capital's ladies. You immediately understand what is in fashion now and what is not. Fashion will reach them in five years, and then in the best case. And Nastya is always up to date with new products. That's why he doesn't like cleanliness. Nastya has a rule - she doesn’t climb into the closet. But if they are lying on a chair or on a bed, then it’s okay. Galina Vasilyevna spoke and warned many times, but Nastya had her own reinforced concrete logic:

- I don’t measure, I just look.

That's interesting. Galina Vasilyevna thought that Nastya would not stay here for long. This is not her job. Yes, how many people like Nastya have changed, it’s impossible to count. They come for the season, take a closer look, and see who gets lucky. Or no luck. Galina Vasilyevna saw from ten meters who would only last a season, and who would not even last a season. I was wrong about Nastya. I got used to it.

– Galina Vasilyevna, why do I have to change the towels every day? And they want clean linen – once every three days. Who will do their laundry? Me, or what? Let them go to boarding houses and at least wash themselves there. Galina Vasilievna, tell Ilyich for the typewriter. She's already galloping like a horse, knocking down all the tiles on the floor. When she squeezes, I almost lie down on her to hold her. They ask me to wash their clothes. And they shove money. Why do I need money? I need a new car! And the counter goes off! It's absolutely crazy there! If the machine drags, then I won’t turn on the kettle. And the iron is barely warm. So should I kill myself for this underwear? Ilyich swears at me, vacationers complain. What do I have to do with it? Why do they need it every day? So dirty, or what? It’s supposed to be once every five days! Cleaning upon request. Has trash accumulated? So, is it difficult to come up and say that the basket is full? Should I guess? And they ask what does “cleaning on request” mean? Galina Vasilievna, you explain to them that if they ask, I will remove it. If they don’t need it, then I don’t need it either. You can get into position. If two of my rooms have moved out, I clean them up and change everything. I don't have time for others.

But by nature Nastya was kind and harmless. Scandalous, yes. If he starts playing bagpipes out of nowhere, you can’t stop him.

Here is Fedor, the evil one. Maniac. He liked to mock people. When I was on duty, it seemed like everything would bother everyone. He really enjoyed the power. Seeing vacationers going to the beach or for breakfast, he immediately grabbed the phone and pretended to have an important conversation. He made a sign to the vacationers - they say, wait. The vacationers obediently stopped, because the administrator wouldn’t just stop it, which means something important. Fyodor imitated a telephone conversation for a couple of minutes and then, with an important look, stared at some kind of note - a piece of paper lying on the table.

– Are you from number seven?

“Yes,” the vacationers were scared again.

“Then you are not entitled to a shift.” After two days.

He waited for the next vacationers and grabbed the phone again. Here things got more interesting, but the beginning of the conversation remained unchanged.

-Are you from number ten?

“You have a shift today,” Fyodor finally announced.

- Change of what?

- Like what? Lingerie! Wait, now I’ll call the cleaning lady, you’ll discuss everything with her.

– What is there to discuss? – the vacationers were surprised.

- Wait. Then no complaints!

Fedor never invited Nastya. She wouldn’t have come, and she wouldn’t have sworn at her so that everyone could hear. Nastya Fedora didn’t value anything, not a penny. I didn’t take it for a man at all. Fyodor was angry, but he was afraid of Nastya. They had their own, long history.

When Nastya first appeared, and she appeared at the boarding house later than everyone else, Fyodor pressed her. Nastya, however, was not against it. But Fedor couldn’t do anything on the male side. Nastya wasn’t exactly surprised, and that’s not what she was expecting. But Fedya decided that the new maid was to blame for his powerlessness, and began to take revenge on her. He went to Ilyich and conveyed complaints about Nastya from vacationers. He demanded that she be fired. But Ilyich, who liked Nastya for her ease and kind, easy-going disposition, for her ingenuousness and her tongue without bones - she spoke first, then thought - was not going to fire her. Nastya didn’t know about Fedor’s progress and didn’t even suspect it. Fedya got drunk out of grief and started pestering him again. Nastya again was not against it, but again it didn’t work out. And Fyodor, in a rage, hit Nastya’s cheekbone with his fist. She wasn’t surprised by a blow to the face, but she was used to getting it from real men—for business, for hanging out with someone else, and not from all sorts of impotent men. While Nastya was rubbing her cheekbone in shock, Fyodor became excited and began to approach her. Nastya was stunned by such impudence and hit Fedya over the head with a table lamp.

The next day, covering the bruise with foundation, she immediately informed everyone that Fyodor was impotent and a pervert at that - he let go of his hands, hit him in the face, and only after that did he get hard. Everyone immediately believed Nastya - what was the point in lying to her? And Fedya was nicknamed Fyodor Half past six.

One season gave way to another, but for some reason the vacationers immediately recognized Fedya’s nickname, and the ladies frowned with disgust and were not at all embarrassed by him.

At first Fyodor was furious and nervous, but gradually reconciled himself. He pointedly did not notice Nastya.

Therefore, when I was on duty, I called Svetka.

Svetka came:

- What did you call?

“I didn’t call, but called,” Fyodor answered, “discuss the cleaning with the vacationers.”

- What should we discuss? – Svetka snapped.

Fyodor was angry. What a fool, she can’t even play along. This goat's horns should be broken off. He walks here, wobbling his backside. Spinning in front of every young man. If it were his will, he would tell her... he would quickly... to his nail... over his knee... so that she wouldn’t even make a sound... She would dye her hair again. The slut is underage. All like my mother.

Of course, Fedor kept his thoughts to himself. And if he tried to open his mouth and say even a word of what he was thinking, then Galina Vasilievna would not linger - she would wave and seal it. Her hand is heavy. Nastya will also help. And Ilyich will be on Galina’s side, as always. No, Ilyich is no good. Which one is the boss? Fyodor would like to restore order here. Everyone would walk in line here. And no Europe. He would return order here as before. So that they know their place. The mouth was not opened. They were afraid. People need to be kept in fear, then there will be order.

Fedor was thirty-eight years old, of which he had worked in this boarding house for twenty. At first I was running errands - take it away, bring it. Promoted to administrator. Well, how have you grown? There seem to be no other administrators. Galina Vasilievna is the chief administrator, and Fedya is ordinary. How he wanted this position! Even if it’s tiny, it’s power. Even if he’s behind his desk, he’s the boss. It’s a little fun to make fun of, but it’s so nice. Such sweetness is formed in the soul. And the fact that Nastya provided him with such a reputation is such a fool herself. How many years, and still everyone is a maid. Serves her right.

But the appointment was not enough for Fedor. He wanted everyone to see who he was.

“Viktor Ilyich, I would like a sign,” Fyodor whined at every opportunity.

“Everyone knows you even without a sign,” Ilyich waved him off.

– I’m not doing it for myself, for the convenience of vacationers.

Fedya almost cried in despair, and Ilyich gave up. I personally typed the piece of paper in large letters – FEDOR, printed it out and gave it to Fedya. He, sticking out his tongue in excitement, began to cut it in order to insert the piece of paper into the frame standing on the counter. It came out crookedly, and Fyodor asked Ilyich to print it again twice more.

The frame, by the way, was large, beautiful, massive, gilded, left over from earlier times. The inscription in a font with monograms “Duty Administrator” and an empty window for the name. Fyodor inserted a piece of paper into the window and admired it. True, admiration soon gave way to irritation. And the reason for this is that Fedor thought a lot. That's what he said to himself to some gape-eyed lady on vacation who suddenly lingered in front of the safety poster.

“I often think...” Fyodor immediately began to confess. And he, I must say, was talkative, loved to gossip and really appreciated such intelligent ladies. They won't send them like that. They will stand, nod and listen. They will be embarrassed to interrupt Fyodor’s monologue because they are “well-mannered.” And that’s what Fedya needs. – I think a lot... I wish I could think less, but I can’t. I have a lot of thoughts, my head is already throbbing.

Fyodor indeed sometimes suffered from an abundance of thoughts. Now, like yesterday, like the day before yesterday, he was thinking that just a name, even if in a beautiful frame with gold, does not look so worthy. How is Galina Vasilyevna? "Galina Vasilievna." Solid. They immediately begin to respect everyone and address them by their first and patronymic names. And to him only by name. We need to talk to Ilyich, let him also have a middle name. And ask for a new piece of paper. Or at least with a last name. Which is better? Fedor Soloviev or Fedor Nikolaevich? Of course, Fyodor Nikolaevich Solovyov sounds. But Ilyich won’t allow it, that’s for sure. Therefore, you need to ask for either a surname or a first and patronymic name. This is something we still need to think carefully about before going to Ilyich. And it’s worth complaining about Svetka. She looks at him as if he were some kind of pimple. But he is an administrator. And this bitch turns up her nose. Yes, she must fly like a fly in front of him, otherwise the impudent little thing will stand up, listen in silence, snort and leave, wagging her ass. But it’s better to talk about Svetka later, after the sign. There will be time with Svetka. If only she could be knocked down... so that she would struggle and scream... and he would visit her a couple of times, then she would know her place.

Fyodor often thought about what he would do with Svetka. Sometimes I even thought about it at night, and then I had to get up and masturbate, which only intensified my anger towards Svetka. He was not impotent - Nastya was wrong here. When I talked to vacationers about cleaning or changing linen, I became so excited. When I didn’t open the gate, too. When I thought about how to break Svetka’s beautiful face, I almost climbed the wall.

But by the age of thirty-eight, he managed to remain single and childless. How he managed to do this when there was a large shortage of men, when even the most lazy, worthless ones went into business, were torn apart by women, is incomprehensible. Fedor believed that it was all because he was too smart and didn’t need anyone. No, I wanted to have a woman by my side. But not so much. He dreamed much more of a first name and patronymic and even a last name on the nameplate. About giving Svetka a hard time and becoming the chief administrator instead of Galka, or even taking Ilyich’s place. Of course, Fyodor called the chief administrator Galka only in his wild fantasies. And this is how Galina Vasilievna addressed her.”

Just as Fyodor thought about Svetka every day, so Galina Vasilievna went to bed every evening thinking about her daughter. For some reason I dyed my hair. Now he walks around with a red head. After all, such beautiful hair - natural blonde, braid as thick as an arm, what more does she need? The figurine is nice. Chest, butt, long legs. Youth is always elastic, beautiful, lush, calling, ringing, flying. So Svetka is the same - in the very juice. But he bucks. I came up with the idea of painting myself red. It's sickening to watch. Like beetroot. And he only snorts if you say something. Thank you for at least keeping an eye on me for now. Suddenly I wanted to work in a boarding house, I asked myself. Yes, as she asked, she confronted her with a fact. I will work, period. It's my business, I decided so. I’ll work for a season, then go to college. I've been like this since childhood. Don't say anything contrary. He will do it his way anyway. Thank you, at least he listens to Ilyich. Mother is sorry. It works, I must admit, well.

Galina Vasilievna was worried that her daughter would start having affairs with vacationers. There were a lot of young people - artists, actors, and poets came. But Svetka knew her worth. No, she wasn’t waiting for the prince, but she didn’t rush at every person she came across, a visitor, or a visitor. Nastya was simpler. I always believed in fairy tales. That a prince will come, fall in love and invite you to marry. And here's the fool - forty years old, but no mind. She was waiting for her happiness to fall on her head. It didn't fall. And what did fall quickly ended. A week or two later, as long as the prince arrived. Every time Nastya sobbed bitterly, she was sincerely worried.

- Aren't you tired? – Svetka asked sharply one day.

- What? – Nastya didn’t understand.

– Aren’t you tired of crying? Yes, I wouldn’t approach such people at all. You can see everything from the face.

-What can you see? – Nastya even stopped crying.

“You don’t choose men for yourself, but women.” All your people were laughing like hysterical women. They even think like women.

Nastya began to cry again, and Galina Vasilievna looked at her daughter in a new way. Yes, that one was from a different cloth. It seems like she’s not local. With character. And she understood men better than any Nastya. Yes, and in women too. She knew who to smile to, who to joke with, who to say what, and with whom it was better to remain silent. Svetka possessed a rare feminine quality - intuition. She felt people.

Galina Vasilievna knew - either Svetka would meet her prince, or she would fall head over heels in love like a fool and derail her whole life. Galya saw that her daughter was into her. She was like that herself when she was young. And what? Fell in love - and downhill. Only Svetka remained. And we must thank fate for what remains. Galya missed the mark with the prince. But how can I say it? Svetka didn’t look like her breed, like a prince. Everything comes from my father – both the legs and the high cheekbones. Galin’s character, but stubbornness again lies in her father. And ease. She moved through life easily. It is also a rare quality when a woman walks easily. Usually she drags along heavily: still young, but already frowning, bent, dissatisfied. Svetka, although stubborn, stubborn, categorical, is funny and bad. The energy is overflowing. So he splashes out as much as he can - he dyes his hair, sometimes Fedora pulls it up on purpose.

For many years, Galina Vasilievna tried to forget the past, but it came up again and again - with the Svetkins suddenly appearing high cheekbones, suddenly growing long legs. The past reminded of itself with Svetka’s turn of his head and habit of crumbling bread on a plate, narrow wrist, blond hair that faded in the sun and became white. Really white. Well, why did this idiot ruin her hair? Why did you repaint?

Svetka has been independent since childhood. Even too much. Life forced me. Galina Vasilievna did not argue with her daughter. If she got something into her head, then even if she cracked it, if she didn’t wash it, she’d get her way by rolling around. Stubborn like a hundred donkeys. That's how it is with work. Galina Vasilievna didn’t know what to think. Will Svetka become a cleaner? Her Svetka? Ilyich said: “If she wants it, let her go.”

All characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people living or who have lived is purely coincidental.

- Ilyich, where should I put it?

- Put it on my head!

- So I don’t care, I can do it on my head! How long can you move around with these chairs - take them here, bring them here. Am I hired to carry chairs?

- Hired! Take it to the yard!

- I brought it from the yard!

- Ask Galya. She knows where to put it.

- Galina Vasilievna! Where are the chairs? I'll leave it here now!

- I'll leave them. Put it on my head!

- Nastya! Why were you hired? For you to clean up! So clean it up! If you have any questions about keys and cleaning, tell Galina Vasilyevna! About the window - to Fedya.

- Call your Mishka. He's been drinking for a week now.

– Where is Galina Vasilievna? Galya! Galya!

Dear vacationers! Masha Traub

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Title: Dear vacationers!

About the book “Dear Vacationers!” Masha Traub

Masha Traub is an amazingly talented journalist and writer. When you start reading any of her books, you are immersed in an atmosphere of warm and sincere conversation, as if you were sitting in a cafe and talking with an old friend over a cup of coffee, sharing your accumulated thoughts and emotions. The novel “Dear Vacationers” was written in the same relaxed and sincere manner. This work is about life in a small resort town, but there is no carefree fun of vacationers or an enchanting resort holiday. Masha Traub describes the life of local residents, each of whom has their own drama and perception of reality. They have no choice but to believe in a happy future. Will they wait for him?

The book “Dear Vacationers” is more like a collection of life stories. There is no clear storyline here. The main setting is an old boarding house, which is always full of vacationers. The key places in this work are not holidaymakers, but holiday home workers. Their stories cannot fail to touch the farthest strings of the soul. They live resigned to their fate and force themselves to think that they are happy.

Many of the characters in the work are mentally ill people. Each of them goes crazy in their own way. Here the reader will meet an unfortunate woman who was cruelly abused by her husband, and a perverted administrator who is aroused by the beating of women, and a crazy lady who hates cats and children (she took particular pleasure in tormenting cats and kittens, which later led to death). It is especially sad to read a story about a mentally ill child and the suffering that befell his parents. However, despite the piercing bitterness that pervades the entire work, there are light and positive moments here that evoke pleasant nostalgia (although they are more ironic than humorous). They make you want to smile and laugh. An amazing palette of emotions - this is our whole life.

Masha Traub wrote a very atmospheric and poignant work, which leaves a long aftertaste. Abandoned old people and unhappy children, deprived of the love of men and women - hopelessness lurks in all destinies. Having become close to the main characters, you pass through each emotion through your heart, you see in their multifaceted and deep images all the good things that do not come out, but languish somewhere in the depths of your soul. The ending of the book is very unusual and gives hope for enlightenment in the dark tunnels and labyrinths of human destinies.

Masha Traub

Dear vacationers!

Dear vacationers!
Masha Traub

Dear vacationers!

In resort areas it is customary to live according to a different calendar. There are only two seasons here - season and off-season. And two times of the day - open and closed. The locals have a past and a present, but no one knows whether the future will come. Dear vacationers! This book is for you.

Masha Traub

Dear vacationers!

All characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people living or who have lived is purely coincidental.

- Ilyich, where should I put it?

- Put it on my head!

- So I don’t care, I can do it on my head! How long can you move around with these chairs - take them here, bring them here. Am I hired to carry chairs?

- Hired! Take it to the yard!

- I brought it from the yard!

- Ask Galya. She knows where to put it.

- Galina Vasilievna! Where are the chairs? I'll leave it here now!

- I'll leave them. Put it on my head!

- Nastya! Why were you hired? For you to clean up! So clean it up! If you have any questions about keys and cleaning, tell Galina Vasilyevna! About the window - to Fedya.

- Call your Mishka. He's been drinking for a week now.

– Where is Galina Vasilievna? Galya! Galya!

- Let strangers in? – Fyodor was indignant, as if we were talking about his own living space.

- They are indignant! - Fyodor muttered. - So let them go there, then why are they coming to us? And if they refuse, then this is not Europe!

Cars drive along the embankment. Some people press the horn, some don't. Under the wheels there are children, balls, mothers, more children and more balls. Surprisingly, not a single accident. Children and balls are safe and sound. At the top, at the beginning of the embankment, you need to turn around on a tiny spot where cars are already parked. Or take a detour, along a road designed for one car, catching your mirrors on the wall. The locals, they drive with their eyes closed, drive backwards in such a way that you’ll admire them. If someone is stuck and struggling and cannot leave, it’s definitely a newcomer. And then up again, where else? And here the count goes down to millimeters. All local drivers are millimeters. There is no other way. It also happens that they stand up and block the street with cars. Vacationers squeeze along the walls of houses. And the drivers stand there and chat about life and the weather. Italy, sort of. Those who have been to Italy say that it is exactly the same there as here. So it's actually no worse than in Europe.