Текст песни Модель для сборки - Михаил Кликин - Мужик

- Anna! Come here! She is! - Shouted old Agatha in yellowed tulle curtained window with cracked frames. No one spoke. She tapped dry cam in rattling glass, clinging to his face, he looked into the hut. But there is nothing really could not see and screamed again: - Are you sleeping or what? Go out for a minute! Anna! Hey! It was early August morning. Puffy pink sun reluctantly rose above the distant forest. On the ground cloth crept gray mist clung to the bushes, behind a fence, ran down in nizinki, curled tresses under the lazy gusts only awakened the morning breeze. It was clear silence. Only in the distance considered alien cuckoo years, but four villagers staged cock usual morning roll call. Not lowing cow without bleating goats, a dog yapping - village died, living out the last years, gradually came to an end with age. Once upon a time, long ago, there were almost forty yards, was a church, in the thirtieth year, destroyed by the Bolsheviks. At one time I was in the village and a two-storey stone-Six-Year School, built by Soviet power, and a medical center and post office, and calf shed and aviary ... now all overgrown with nettles and willow-tea, Chikanov and swans. Even the dirt road that cut through the village along the first, was now useless and gradually disappeared under the broad leaves of burdock. Abandoned orphaned house with broken windows and doors, ingrown into the ground slowly rot. Break under its own weight rafters, roof sinking, crumbling empty courtyards. Only log house, overgrown with wild grass head, still standing, is not giving up the inexorable time ... And it seemed strange, as in this forgotten corner of the four still living at home, four huts. Incredibly, in a lost village still somehow four old women ... Agafia was chilly lived, and she smelled more tightly in a ragged jerkin and corrected gray shawl thrown over her shoulders. - You died there, perhaps, forgive me, Lord? - She murmured, and again knocked on the low window. The curtain jerked and seemed to lean in the window an old woman's face, pitted with deep wrinkles and framed by tousled gray hair. - What are the drums? - Came the muffled through the glass. - Man, what have you got? - He is not here. In any forest left before dawn. - Anna slammed opened flaky frame. - But almost it to you? - At the Well gate broke. Make it would be necessary. The handle broke. Just me zashibla. And a bucket, but now you can not get. - He is not here. The forest is gone, - repeated Anna and invited: - Maybe you will glance, neighbor? - Ought to go too ... And how will you ask him. - Okay. They were silent for a bit. Agatha was in no hurry to leave, she sat down on the bench, putting his hands in his pockets merznuschie. Anna half-leaned out the window, the wind went through her gray locks, weaving hair weightless threads August web. - Again, a piece of iron to its left? - Asked Agatha. - Yeah. In the forest. - And why are they his? - The car is his. - And you, where did you know? - I know. He said. - So he's dumb. - Dumb, dumb ... - Anna mimicked, but did not explain anything. They fell silent again, basking in the glow of cool morning sun. - Strange he did you. Anna said nothing. - And I need to forge a porch - remembered Agatha. - And what exactly have rotted. With water afraid to go, God forbid, break a leg, so the rest of your life and will lie ... Tell him too, and about the porch, okay? - Okay ... - What would we do without him? What to eat, and all man. Benefits which bring. Matrona, out, the roof shingles blocked. Garden digs ... - Agatha long breath, paused, and repeated: - And what would we do without him? - He will leave soon, - said Anna. - How to leave? - Alarmed Agripina. - And like this. He will make his car and leave. - How so? And we? - Lived as before ... - Burn it over