In the morning, as always, there was not a crumb of bread at home. A volley drank his morning coffee, adding a spoonful of cognac, grabbed a cigarette and ran in the grocery store, lighting it on the run. From the house to the deli three minutes by a quick pace. At the door of the grocery store, I brake, with relish, making the last puffs, and I notice fresh blood stains on the melted snow - someone has already broken my nose. I go into the trading room. At the entrance, pressing the radiator warms the bum. He appeared in the village recently, a month ago. And maybe more. More than once I saw him digging in garbage cans in the backyard of the village administration. A couple of times I gave a light. Usually he does not ask for anything-his meager ration gathers in garbage cans, cigarette butts - in the entrances, there were no and no code locks in Lesnoy. Homeless in the Forest - a rare phenomenon. Another ten years ago to see the homeless, and just a stranger in the village was almost impossible. Those who were released from the MLS (places of confinement), accompanied by operas, were put on a train and sent out of the country, a regimental patrol went round the village checking documents from any oncoming. Visitors from the "big earth" could be guessed right away by civilian clothes, a haughty and at the same time frightened gaze, a quick gait. Then the regiment was disbanded, the patrol disappeared, followed by the train, the released ones became of no interest to anyone.
And this time the bum did not ask anything, he pressed himself to the battery, squatting. At the counter in front of me is one person - a woman pressing a lump of snow to her cheek. When she turned around, it turned out that she was the source of blood loss - over the eye a yawning bruised wound measuring three centimeters in length. The snow is soaked with scarlet blood. The look is cloudy floating.
- What happened? You need to sew a wound, call an ambulance?
"What ... the ambulance?" - spewing out the mate, the last day's fume and the fresh scent of freshly brewed moonshine - This is the bitch he blew on me - the goat ... (pointing to the basking bum). He asked me ten kopecks, but where can I get them for him, or what? And he took and struck.
Further dialogue was meaningless. The woman took a pack of prima from the counter and quickly retired.
I got a loaf of gray from the seller in nine or sixty. Things in the box office as always was not, and I was given change in two boxes of matches.
At the exit of the homeless man he stretched out a shaking hand, begging for alms. - What do you want?
"Ten kopecks."
I rummaged through my pockets-except for matches, nothing. - Need a match?
- No, I would have bread.
"Well, look how you like."
He did not give me bread. I returned home with a loaf and heaviness in my chest: well, I busted the bastard. And the woman did not help, let go home. And also condemned. But in the morning he drank coffee with cognac.
"Give to him who asks of you, and from him who wants to take from you do not turn away."
"Judge not, that ye be not judged, for by what judgment ye judge, such shall ye be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you also."
"Is there a man among you who, when his son asks him for bread, would give him a stone?"
"And so in everything, whatever you want people to do with you, so do you and them, for this is the law and the prophets."
(From the Bible)
Does the "pension" always begin like this?
