“Yeah. The flower garden is still one, ”thought Petr Petrovich, making his way to the class through the barrier of half-naked girl bodies.

Formally, everything was decent (well, or almost): bare legs, hands, tops of boobs and nothing more, especially with a discount on the roasting that stood all August and did not want to fall in September.

But, as you know, the more formal the decencies, the more difficult it is to comply with them. "Well no. Burned more than once. I now on this chaff not check ... Lord! And what is this? ”

A brunette stood at the door of his class.

Not that the naked or the most naked one. Not. Not naked and not leggy, but simply indescribably beautiful. Black-eyed, skillfully and brightly made-up princess "Thousand and One Nights", well-groomed, knowing the value of its priceless beauty and full of it to the top, to the very oil with a sketch of eyes.

Apparently, she studied in his 11th "A".

That was too much.

Petr Petrovich entered his first lesson not as a strict, self-confident teacher, but nafig a demoralized boy ready for any nonsense.

***

“Painted, glittering neckline, and that's enough,” he growled, pacing along the board like a tiger in a cage. - I don’t know how you had it with Zinaida Osipovna, but everything is simple in me, as in the primer. For every bare feet - to the board, plus an additional task. The law takes effect from the next lesson. Any questions? No questions.

The hushed class listened to him, looking at him and rolling his eyes.

- I have a question. Can? - there was a hoarse voice. - Are bare legs considered in pairs, or for each leg separately to the board?

A wave of grunts swept through the class.

- So. Who are you?

- Jim Carrey! Johnny Depp! Leon DiCaprio! - showered from everywhere. - Frodo Baggins! No, boys, he is Lord Sauron himself! ..

- Quiet! - barked Peter Petrovich. When he wanted, he could do it very effectively. The class fell silent again. - Quiet...

Five minutes later, Pyotr Petrovich realized that he had a headache. Ten minutes later - that he was deadly wanting to escape somewhere far away. He always felt the gaze of the black and the hell-eyed on himself, and from that he carried all the crap. The beautiful princess, no doubt, mocked him, and Peter Petrovich was ready to tear her to the point of arrogance and beauty.

In order to somehow bring down this bad verse, he decided to call someone to the blackboard.

- Check that you remember from last year. Uh ... Homenko!

He specifically chose the most inconspicuous surname, hoping that some gray mouse without a bust and bare legs would respond to it.

What was his horror when the Princess herself came to him, flashing her indescribable smile.

- Why are you smiling ...? He asked her almost rudely.

- And what not? - inquired the Princess, swinging her hips.

She had strong, strong, like Indian shakti.

- You can if you are careful enough. Tell us, Khomenko ... what is your name?

“Masha,” the Princess said in a singing tone.

- Tell us, Masha Khomenko, about ... about Blok's work.

“Blok is a great Symbolist poet, a representative of the younger generation of Russian Symbolists, or, as they called themselves, Young Symbols,” Masha immediately began, without changing the intonation. - Andrei Bely, Innokentiy Annensky and other remarkable innovative poets also belonged to them ...

She said absolutely the right things with absolutely the right language, still smiling and stretching the words, as if she scoffed at him. Petr Petrovich listened to her, mouth open.

Someone clearly whispered:

- Yesss! She made it!

“He is right,” Petr Petrovich thought wistfully, looking at the smiling Princess Masha.

- ... In the mature period of his creativity, the Block increasingly turns to the national theme ...

- Thank you, that's enough.

- I'm five? - arrogantly asked Masha.

Her eyes pierced Peter Petrovich with sheaves of rainbow sparks, and he wanted to scream.

- Five, five. Sit down

The class whistled and whirred. Masha elegantly bowed and went to her desk.

"This is the end," thought Petr Petrovich ...

***

The class quickly got used to the new teacher, and the lessons were held as an ordinary school routine.

But Masha plagued him with beauty and insolence. She began to tint the strands of hair that fell to the waist, green and blue. Colored eyeshadow also flashed around her eyes, and she shone shamelessly and gleamed on lessons like an oriental mosaic. Petr Petrovich was convinced that all this was in spite of him.

When she was cheeky in class, he felt like a sucker from suckers. In the corridor and on the street Masha kept with him, as with everyone, but Petr Petrovich did not notice this and was sure that she was criticizing him as a snotty kid.

For a month he was exhausted, as during the year of hard labor. During off-hours, he couldn’t occupy himself with anything, and toiled until he went back to work and didn’t see Masha, and wasn’t angry that everything was useless, and didn’t go home later to suffer again and wait for the meeting, painful as other.

There was no way out of this vicious circle. Petr Petrovich imagined how Masha, the mocker and the goddess, admitted in his feelings, howled from annoyance, frightening the passers-by.

One Sunday, he walked around the market.

- Come on, son, come, dear! Know your fate, find out what the stars are preparing for you ...

It was a “fortune teller Zulfiya”, a palmist, astrologer and medium who settled in a lukewarm spot at the main entrance.

He always passed by, ignoring calls to step up and find out fate. But this time could not resist.

"Though I laugh," thought Petr Petrovich, knowing that he was not amused.

“Happiness will be, wealth will be,” Zulfiya muttered, feeling her hand with rough fingers. - You will be rich, you will get beautiful children ...

- What kind of children? What kind of happiness? - suddenly burst through him. - Laughing, yes?

Zulfiya looked at him with black young eyes that gleamed strangely in the folds of wrinkles.

- How can you, dear? Lines do not lie. What's up with you? Tell Zulfie, she will help ...

- What's wrong? Fell in love like an idiot, Petr Petrovich whispered, really feeling like an idiot. - The schoolgirl. I can't even tell her ...

Zulfiya flashed her young eyes.

- Soooo. Come on, give me your hand, dear, ”she said, even though Peter Petrovich’s hand was already in her hand. - Noooo ... Lines do not lie, do not lie ... Happiness will be yours, luck will be, everything will be, dear! But you just need to be able to use! ..

- How? How to use? - Pyotr Petrovich almost shouted.

Paul suddenly swam before his eyes, and he grabbed the fence.

- What's the matter?

- Oooh. My head was spinning ... It became absolutely useless ... Speak quickly how to use!

- Now, dear, now. The lines are not simple, weaving is cunning, triple ... Aha! Soooo, soooo ... Listen to me carefully. That's what the lines said to Zulfie: go now - you hear right now! - go to the courtyard of the house on a high mountain. There your happiness awaits you. Proboron - your trouble. You catch - your luck. Got it?

- What other grief?

Petr Petrovich wanted to twist his lips in a smile, but could not.

Nearby there was only one house on a high mountain: a five-story building, standing on a cliff. She was called so: "house on the mountain."

In the wild hope of knowing it, he pulled out his hand from Zulfiya, thrust her a crumpled bill (obviously less than she expected), and ran to the edge.

"Completely crazy," he sneered at himself, flying up the steps. - "From that cliff and really won't be killed ..."

Two hundred times, telling himself that he did not believe in all these things, but came just like that, Petr Petrovich flew out of breath, into the courtyard of that very house, and began to measure it with steps from end to end. A strange wadded rumble buzzed in my head.

“I'll wait an hour ... no, two,” he thought. - Anyway, the weather is good, honey ... "

***

Before he could measure the yard from end to end, he came across Masha coming out from around the corner.

In her hand hung a heavy shopping bag.

- Eeee, - they groaned in chorus, frozen, rooted to the spot. - Eeee ... ...