extravaganza - modest, almost imperceptibly, despite the fact that Hendrix was shining on the stage. Behind were three endless days in which almost the whole life was put together, performances, each of which remained a bright trace, a spot, even a scar. Behind it was a terrible Saturday storm, after which it seemed that there would be no festival - but he rebelled from the ashes by Phoenix and began to play again with all the musical colors. Stuart remembered everything - every minute, every sound, every word and note - but he especially remembered the one and a half hour night performance of The Who ...

...And there was a night from Saturday to Sunday - a dark night, and wet, and dirty, already taking one life with it and spewing nightmares of war, death and powerlessness ...

Over the field, helplessly spread under the sky and the weight of thousands of human bodies, which were recently washed by a terrible thunderstorm, timidly soared up the sounds of music. They were as dirty and ragged as the people sitting on slippery ground. But people didn’t care that they were sitting there, that their bodies were covered with dried mud, and their hair was tangled on their heads into unplayable tangles. And all the more it was all sounds.

From the stage came the trembling voice of Rod Daltri:

- See me ... Feel me ... Touch me ... Kill me...

Each call was accompanied by a blow to the strings and a drummer’s gently rustling shot on the cymbals. Each time the singer took a breath, as if he did not have enough air, as if the thunderstorm swept by in the afternoon did not refresh the world, but, on the contrary, plunged it into hopeless darkness from which there was no way out. The bright spotlights, which were sun-blinded by the performing musicians last night, seemed to fade from hopelessness and self-doubt that night and only illuminated the slim figures of four insolent people who stood on the wet stage and played a prayer for light.

From time to time sparks flew from the guitar. The guitarist was sometimes fake, but no one paid any attention to this: everything was overlapped by the real, genuine emotions of the song.

- See me ... Feel me ... Touch me ... Kill me...

A timid plea grew into a formidable call, prayer became a cry. A fragile man stood in front of the universe and shouted in her face. “Hey, God! Do you hear? You yourself created me, in your own image and likeness! You made me a Creator - the same as You did! What are you, e-my, jealous of me to yourself? Here I am - look! I'm not hiding, not afraid; I boldly look into your black, like the Universe, eyes, and call you on an equal footing: kill me - and let's create a new world together! A world where there will be no dirt, there will be no darkness, there will be no war; a world where there will only be peace, light, happiness and music. Our music is with you - do you hear me? Can't you be my co-author? I hear your music - but do you hear mine? ”

A guitarist who was pale from the tension joined the singer, and they sang a duet. From the depths of the stage, the rumble of drums rolled in, as if announcing the beginning - of what? creation? destruction? In conjunction with her, the bass player clearly and confidently led out his part, emphasizing the rhythm of the action.

And in the east gradually lit up ...

“Lewis,” said Florence unexpectedly, leaning her cheek against his shoulder, “let's call the baby Stuart.”

Lewis abruptly turned to her and met with her gaze - to those who asked and at the same time calmly and confidently, as if the girl knew that she would not be denied. For a second, Lewis was overwhelmed by a wave of jealousy, and he glanced at his friend, for whom, it seemed, there was now nothing but guitar madness.

- Do you really want it?

The girl nodded silently. Lewis paused for a minute, thinking about something and looking at her friend, and then at Stewart, finally said slowly:

- Well ... okay, come on. In the end, he helped you until I ... - The guy did not finish: the girl gently pressed his mouth with his hand.

“Thank you, Lew,” the girl took her hand from his lips and gently kissed him. - I love you.

The guy smiled - somehow timidly, incredulously.There was a question in the language, but after these words he never decided to ask him.

Stewart continued to watch the scene without stopping, and pictures of the recent past slowly scrolled in his head, fragments of phrases and speeches he heard from the TV, on performances, on demonstrations ...

... I have a dream: one day our country, realizing the true meaning of its faith, will become its embodiment ...I have a dream: once on the crimson hills of Georgia, the descendants of former slaves will be able to share the meal of fraternity with the descendants of former slave owners ... I have a dream: once there, in Alabama, the state of cruel racists ... black boys and girls hold hands with white boys and girls, like brothers and sisters ... I have a dream today ...

...President Johnson made it clear that the FBI is monitoring all anti-war speeches ...

... I hear the call of my generation, but I have nothing to say to him ...

... On the stage, I make love to thousands of people, and then I go home and fall asleep alone ...

... Listen! I am not talking about any revolution. I am not talking about any demonstrations. I am only talking about fun. I'm talking about love ...

... Bring me their heads! ..

... They were sitting in the middle of a crap field, in which a handful of volunteers walked and collected all the garbage left after a three-day holiday. The few remaining — a few thousand — crowded around the stage, risking sound burns again. And at this time under the hand of the evil (or, perhaps, too truthful?) Wizard, the “Star-striped flag” imperceptibly turned into the “Lilac mist”:

Purple haze are in my brain ...