He met Davydova at a rest home. She was a philosopher, graduated from Moscow State University and worked at the Institute of Philosophy of the Academy of Sciences. They were at the same table. Acquaintance continued in Moscow. They gave each other dates, holili to the movies. One day she invited him home. She lived in a small room, in a communal flat on Sadovo-Kudrinskaya just against the place where Annushka spilled oil, and she cut off the head of poor Berlag with a tram. Once they got on the "Physicists" Durenmat, after which his shares somehow clearly increased. However, both of them were excited by this work and the terrible power of imagination that a true and sincere writer can have. At home she watered his coffee, then he was still ridiculously cheap, from small intellectual cups. They were young, they talked about philosophy, about Hegel, at that time it was them who tried to improve their well-being, about Sartre, which couldn’t improve their well-being, Camus, they found common themes, they were interested in two, something he I read, for example, Bogdanov, whom he highly praised as the most beautiful natural philosopher, at the same time mocking “Materialism and empirio-criticism,” considering this opus to be a parody of philosophy, which embarrassed her.

“A check mark,” he said hotly, “is this philosophy?” Here he quotes a statement, for example, Poincare, and then Marx says that this contradicts Marx. But what follows from this - For him, everything. But it’s not on Marx that one should check the justice of thought or observation, but on life, experience, in practice. Otherwise, it is prostitution, not philosophy.

But more than that, he speculated, by grains, by random scraps, like Cuvier's bone, he knew how, because he loved to think, although, however, at that time it was absolutely fruitless thoughts, they constantly came, he scrolled them, I decided for myself, but then it went away and was lost in the twist of memory and seemed forever. Writing at least something — at that time he didn’t even have such a thought, it didn’t seem to him that something interesting for others could be contained in his thoughts, it seemed to him that all this is quite ordinary human mental activity as a form of life, for “ I think

it means that I exist, but apparently the opposite is true: “I exist, ergo, I think.” The idea that his thoughts might contain something more valuable than the arguments for endless student disputes, somehow did not occur to him. It was an incubation period. But with Tick, his thoughts could freely flow out, bumping into either understanding and agreement, or repulsion, but also with understanding, her world of philosophy was, however, quite mossy, as he found quickly enough, however, like the whole "advanced" socialist the philosophy of the time was still interesting to him, even if only in terms of information. With her, he did not experience the burden of communication, as with almost all the girls earlier, She was already married, her ex-husband was a prominent teacher, a rising star, his ultra-revolutionary programs, in which children already in the third grade wrote the X symbol, were already beginning to be introduced in schools. She had a daughter, who, however, mostly lived with her parents. The tick was a couple of years older than him, but in some ways he felt older and more experienced.

He was pleased to meet with her. And it seemed to him that she was sincerely happy with him. They usually made long circles along the boulevards, then went to the Patriarch's Ponds, crossed the place where Annushka poured oil, and came to her through the inner courtyard, where constant porches sat at the entrance, who each time scanned them with their looks, like electronic beams from which she literally cringed, and constantly complained to him. He laughed and comforted.They walked the boulevards and talked, talked, argued, laughed, joked. He even joked. Never before had he done this with the girls. He generally had a vilest temper. He could be fun and interesting only if he felt that he was being listened to, understood, perceived. But it should already be. He did not know how to force himself to listen. He did not know how to conquer, capture the attention of a random campaign or people spiritually close to him. It was a string that needed a carefully tuned resonator, and without it, it turned into a simple ox-vein. And only in the close environment of people who understood him well could he open up. And in ordinary communication, he was a terribly boring man, from which he incredibly suffered, taking him for a testimony of his spiritual inferiority. It took a lot, a lot of time, until he learned to respect and perceive himself as he was born without excessive bitterness. But in childhood, youth and youth, it was an inexhaustible source of his suffering, which gave color to his memories of that time.

And with her he was revealed. She was simple and easy. And that was the first time. Was it love - He really did not know. And is it worthwhile to customize all relationships between a man and a woman to one stereotype of the concept that is stung by thousands of stupid books, everyone perceives this word so differently that the common basis for understanding the feelings and sensations that are invested in this word has practically disappeared. But if for “love” you need what is expressed by the word “deification” - this was not the case. It was with others and after. But not with her. But perhaps that was already small

Several times in the evenings he drank tea with her, listened to records, looked at books, conducted conversations. Once he "stayed late". Of course, he perfectly felt the flow of time, but it was not he who counted him off himself - And she, apparently, also decided not to notice his current, and when they realized in feigned horror, it was already late, his last train left. But there was no other couch or place to sleep in the room. He spent half the night in an armchair, struggling with his desire, but fearing to destroy the relationship and fearing that suddenly she would take men's actions for the impudent boldness of not knowing how to behave with an intelligent woman. After all, whatever you say, he did not have to deal with philosophers. It is unlikely that she slept. Then she, allegedly, having woken up, offered him a place on the sofa next to her. But that night, although he was consumed with desire, he did not dare to undertake, perhaps, the expected actions from him. For two hours he had suffered, solving this problem, until he simply fell asleep.

But the next time it was as if everything had already been decided between them. He quietly undressed, she turned off the light and lay down with him. And they immediately rushed into each other’s arms, and he knew her.

She later told him with what fear she expected of this night.

She married a student. Davydov was her first man. She didn’t even have boys with the most innocent kisses before him. Her school years were spent in high and even the highest "morality." Yes, and there was no special sex appeal in her, she was nothing, but not at all sexy, and the boys did not pester her with their “stupidities,” and considered her only their friend. At the university, pursuing such elevated spheres of the human spirit distracted her from sexual problems even more. They even seemed to her simply incompatible with staying with these spheres, where Kant, Plato, Hegel, Nietzsche reigned, and it’s not for nothing that many of them lived all their lives without a female society. The philosopher and sex, philosophy and personal sexuality - apparently, it was incompatible. Yes, and they did not have the word "sex" at that time, but there was only one thing - "bl ...", which a decent girl not only could not pronounce, but could not even think about it.

She remembered, remembered her first wedding night too well. She waited for her and was afraid. For some reason, naked male hairy legs were frightening and terrifying. Bare male hairy legs, intertwining and touching.This image made her shudder. And at the same time there was a premonition of the sweetness of the upcoming transformation into a woman, the act of the only and ...