If I had been told about a year and a half ago that I would be a recluse on an island in the middle of the Central Russian Plain to spend my life, I would have laughed that person in the face. I? The hermit? On some island in the middle of a river? And what to the nearest settlement for three days on a boat, six on dogs? Rave. Pure water is nonsense. How can this be, when your life is in full swing, the business is going uphill, the wife is a beautiful woman and everything, if not in chocolate, then in butter, for sure !? Rave. But. As they say, never say never. That evening, I returned early from a trip to some Zhopinsk, where we examined a dilapidated plant for its transformation into a living economic entity. And since all these bathhouses, whores and stuff were already on my very throat, I sat on a passing train and voila, I arrived in my native hearth twelve hours earlier. In which, through the glass of the winter garden, watched as my close friend was tearing at my wife. And she squealed, spun under him, in general, behaved in a completely different way than with me. The picture, so to speak, as from a joke - the husband returns from a business trip.

At first I wanted to kill them. Go through the kitchen, go up to yourself, get, recently bought a three-line and shoot them. On the spot, without listening to their cowardly explanations. And then I thought - why kill them? Then the courts and other prose of life there? In addition, if the wife is cheating on you, then you probably are. I collected things to a minimum, loaded my armory, took all the documents with money from the safe and left for the office. The next day, I don’t know why, I sat down at the table and wrote a statement (the documents and documents must be in order!) I called back, warning me that I was leaving on a business trip for a long time. And then. Then there was a lawyer, a notary, a lawyer, the frightened face of a deputy, the anxious faces of my two partners. There were her calls, calls of her mother, brother, this close friend. But be that as it may, in the evening I got into the car, drove into the supermarket, where I zatar, as if I was driving to the Arctic, or, there, to the North Pole, and started. In the direction where the eyes looked. And they glanced in the direction of Siberia. I saw the advertisement of Lake Baikal in this supermarket, and it happened in my head - “To Siberia!”. After a bright flash of advertising on the outskirts of the city, the Russian road picked me up, gliding along the smooth roads of cities, dragged along the ribbed asphalt of regional roads, threw broken roads into potholes. Spinning the steering wheel, maneuvering between the pits, some Mirgorod puddles, with machines stuck in them, I slowly moved to the East. Where the sun rose, where the new life begins. And all this time I was thinking. I thought about my wife, such a beautiful woman, who so meekly betrayed me, neither about business, nor about friends. I thought about myself. He argued with himself, recalled my whole life from the moment when the doors of the parental home slammed behind me, and the rattling bus took me to the army. Probably somewhere in the depths of my soul, I didn’t like my life after the army. Especially the recent life, and I subconsciously sought a reason to move away from it all. And the betrayal of his wife, who now hell gets what, no matter how hard she tries, it's just a reason to leave, stand, think. And then come back if need be.

She herself came to me in dreams, twisted her hips, pulled me over, waving her lifted bra, exposing my wet snatch ready to receive me.She even drew me into her dances, leading me to such distances, from which I was pulled only by the shoulders, sleeping in one room of my companions. After such dreams, in which, as they told me, I groaned, refusing something, I fell asleep with heavy feelings. I still loved her, I guess. Or just missed sex with her?

Overnight stays in some hotels, parks along with truckers who were surprisingly sincere, understanding people, their infrequent calls, calming them, dragged into heavy fights for real estate, inheritance, etc., were the moments in which my old life was trying to get back to me or bring me back to it. But every time I became more and more convinced that all this was no longer mine. That former, tense life, full of all kinds of intricate intrigues, omissions and other things that stretches for business, now seemed to me somehow well, not horror, but the thing was already unnecessary. Did I run away from problems? I think no. All instructions were given, everything was arranged, the lawyer tightly knew his business, for which he received such money. When I called from some post office of a dilapidated village and heard the words that everything was formed, I remembered everyone with a kind word, turned on a country road and drove through the forest, focusing only on the presence of space between the trees, tightly compressed by the wall.

Here you can definitely sit for a while. A couple of recently abandoned huts, a river, wide, beautiful in the light of the rising moon, good news, set me up in a peaceful way. Having unloaded the car, I sat in the house, looking in the light of a small lamp up the mountain from the arsenal, the products, all sorts of tools. I have already calmed down, did not think in irritation and anger about the events of my life today or before. Now I tried to understand. Where am I going to Siberia? Why go? And do I have to go back? The last thing worried me. Return? Back to the nocturnal ah-on-not, the sticky hands of officials in power, the deceiving eyes of employees, and those who dream that this exploiter should be lightly pinched, although this will affect their salaries, everything that a business person goes through to sign the contract, get right for something? It made me think the most.

Reflections in the style of Hamlet interrupted someone's steps on the wooden planks laid to the house. I admit, I sweated a little. At such an hour, in such a wilderness? Feverishly scoring cartridges in a drawn shotgun, I sat in a dark corner, ready to immediately open fire. My heart jumped out, my hands trembled, cold sweat appeared on my forehead.

- Hey! Who is there alive? - Suddenly, a sweet female voice hit the nerves. I understand if a coarse male voice would have wheezed. And then there is such a melodic, pleasant female voice.

- There is. “What is my voice like that of dystrophic?” - It is very much alive. Come on in. Be a guest.

- Well, they called themselves. - She laughed outside the door, slammed the log, planted to the door - like a bell, entered the first room.

- Hello. - I raised the lamp, lighting up a guest. The second hand, kept the shotgun ready to shoot offhand. At the first jerk it will be enough and blind shot. Stun, scare.

In the doorway there was a short woman, wrapped in a beautiful scarf with bright red flowers, in a jacket, blue fleece trousers, such were in ski suits once, rubber boots in bright yellow daisies. And the face! Such a sweet face, a bright blush - not induced by a confident female hand, but a natural one that you want to kiss, hug it.

- From the city? - She nodded to me.

- Yes. - Yes, even from Mars! - Are you local?

- Well, you can say so. - She pulled her hand, showing somewhere to the side. - We are at the station. - I wonder, and who are we?

- My name is Sergey. - I caught the lamp, pressed the shotgun to my side with my elbow, extended my hand.

- And me, Milena. - She shook hands, hitting the nerves with the gentle warmth of a dry, hot hand. - We saw that there was a light, we decided to check. A week after the last resident died, they thought that some marauders had decided to disassemble the house.

- And go alone? - I put a chair for her, sat on the other side of the pile of things.

- Not. With me wind. - She said so calmly, surely, that I began to doubt what I heard.

- Wind?

- Yes. Our dog is so called. - She turned to the doorway. - Wind, Wind, come here. - Here is a dog !! I even pulled back. Black, healthy, to my waist, a dog quietly formed next to a woman.

- He doesn't bite? - Suddenly, I asked myself, without even knowing how to react.

- Does not bite. - She laughed, and the dog stepped from foot to foot and, in my opinion, also smiled. Devilry!...