To me, a graduate of the pedagogical institute, the faculty of foreign languages, the future was not drawn in the brightest colors. Having shook myself for half a year in high school and having changed several unpromising jobs, I realized that I was beginning to gradually sink into some kind of pit from which I could not get out later. But I wanted to live like other decent people live, so that the furnishings and costume are decent, the food is tasty and nutritious - in short, everything is as it should. Dirt and poverty, constant thoughts about how to live a month - all this just tormented me. And we lived at that time with my mother and sister in a small town very poor. There is no future. So-so, live starving, wear old clothes and think how not to wear shoes ahead of time. We didn’t have any patronage, relatives are all pathetic, uneducated people, acquaintances are miserable ... Such a future scared me ... Why grovel, looking at how other people live, how to live ... Why did they give me an education at the institute ? It would be better not to teach me at all. But I studied conscientiously, for knowledge, and not for a diploma. I did not want to die ...

Father (God rest his soul) died without taking care of us at all. He died, as he lived, in poverty (in order to bury him somehow decently, he had to be taken from people), although according to the position that he held, he could, like others, provide for his family.

God forbid me to condemn my parents, but I reason this way: if a person acquires a family, then his sacred duty is to take care of her in order not to put his blood stricken in an impossible situation. And without that beggars are pretty. If you do not have the strength to provide for the family, then you should not have children.

His father was a very strange man, not too proud and irritable, and his mother, due to his weakness of character, had no influence on him. Sometimes she will make a scene (when clothes and shoes have worn out on us very much), she starts a conversation about the means, but she will immediately stop talking when she meets the contemptuous look of her father. Ordinarily, he used to twist his lip, and when his mother complained of poverty, he answered irritably:

- Steal order?

Mother tried to talk about our clothes and shoes, but my father interrupted me with a grin:

- What do we have, princes of Mecklenburg, or what? And in holey like.

The mother fell silent, and the father, it happened, would ponder, and some time later, as if thoughtfully silently:

“At least my father’s children will remember well!”

After such scenes, he particularly gently caressed me and my sister, pressed us to his sunken chest and stared at our faces for a long time. Then, as we grew up, he caressed me less often and sometimes mysteriously looked at me as if I was a mystery to him and he was afraid for me. Sister, on the contrary, very indulged, in its own course. I was jealous and jealous that Dad was a completely impractical person. What princes here! In the house we have permanent flaws, and he is about princes! I used to often talk about it with my mother, but she, like a woman, had no excerpt.

It was necessary to gradually, carefully, but as often as possible to touch on these issues (a drop sharpens a stone), pressing mainly on parental feelings (the father loved me and my sister very much), but she suddenly broke out with reproaches and tears and then, instead of enduring the character and show discontent, she herself apologized to her father. Of course, the father persisted even more in his pride, believing that his mother agreed with him in everything (this is about the means). And she agreed with him more for weakness. It happened, itself, crying secretly over us, that we are miserable and poor, and talk to the father - calm down. There was no excerpt from my mother!

They all spoke about their father (and still speak) as an honest man, but an eccentric. But from these conversations neither mom nor I was any easier.If even the pope was told differently, and we would have the means, then we would still respect us more and we would not have to humiliate ourselves before the people ...

After the death of my father, I received a certificate of maturity, but there was nothing to dream about a good place. Of course, if there was any money, then the place could be seen better and we would live decently. But even under Dad, we were in distress, and how he died - the doctor said, from cancer - then our affairs were completely upset. We had to live three. I was the only family support.

And soon I became hated by our town. And its inhabitants are also hated. The idea - to become the most decent person and make mother and sister decent people - stuck a nail in my head. I decided that this should be so, and with this goal I was going to go to Moscow and try happiness there and test my strength ... I was twenty three years old ... I was a healthy, strong young man and, as local students said, far from being a freak ... "Can I really not make it?" - I thought, and hope, one other pink, tickled my nerves ... After all, I do not demand much from life. I wish only a decent existence. I want to live as people live - that's all. And I will live like this! - I have often repeated myself, cherishing these dreams, as the goal of my life.

My plan to start was this. Find yourself a place to tutor increased demands, and there to the curve of the American dream will bring. I knew spoken English perfectly and also understood how to teach it for speedy learning. In our age of high technology, finding a convenient option was not so difficult. I began browsing the most appropriate job on the Internet, contemptuously dropping out low-salary ads.

Two days later I decided. I called by phone and we agreed to go on Skype for a more thorough conversation. I assured the man of good knowledge and was ready to pass any test. He invited me to Moscow by 2 pm to agree on a contract. We lived four hours on the train from the capital.

The next day, at eight o'clock in the morning, I took up the toilet with special care and left my city. In Moscow, the subway got to the right address and went to a private building, surrounded by a high metal fence. I was opened by some kind of guard and presenting himself, he let me into the courtyard. A minute later I was entered into a large office, lined with bookcases with books and elegant furniture upholstered in green morocco. At his desk, standing in the middle of the room, sat Mr. Ryazanov, of small stature, an ugly, shortly cropped brunette of about forty, in a morning gray suit. When I appeared, he pushed the laptop aside and looked up at me with small black eyes, keenly and intelligently looking from under his glasses. The penetrating gaze of these eyes concealed the ugliness of the face, giving it a clever expression.

- I am very glad to see you, Roman Antonovich! - He said, slightly rising and holding out his hand. - Sit down please!

I sat in the chair by the table and prepared to listen.

- Would you mind going to the village for the summer as a tutor?

- Yes, I'm looking for classes. But I would like to work in Moscow in order not to be far from home.

Ryazanov was silent, looking at me with his sharp-eyed gaze, and finally continued:

- I have a home in the Krasnodar Territory for a summer vacation. Local people live there who monitor the farm, cook and help around the garden. It's far from here, but you can visit your loved ones if you wish.

- Well, in the end it does not matter where to work, if we go for the whole summer.

“My son, a boy of twelve,” Ryazanov continued, “unfortunately for me, I’m a little lazy and I didn’t study very smartly at school, so he needs to study hard in the summer, I’m going to take him abroad and I must know the language, along with some general disciplines .

- I understood everything, if a boy wants to gain knowledge, he will learn to speak.

- In case of successful outcomes, I am ready to reward you additionally for the lessons.

Of course, I agreed and bowed.

- I look at you with great hope and I consider it unnecessary to explain that only excellent ...