So we spent our first wedding night apart, under the same roof, but in different rooms.

Iii. Scene in the fields​

One summer evening he hears a ringing tune
two shepherds. These sounds, the surrounding nature, rustle slightly
leaves swaying with wind, glimmers of hope, recently
inspiring him - everything gives an unusual peace in his heart, and
his thoughts take a lighter character ... But she again
appeared; his heart is compressed
foreboding - is it true ... One of the shepherds renews
its naive tune, the other does not respond more. The sun
sits down ... a distant rumble of thunder ... loneliness ...
silence...
(from the programmatic description of Berlioz's Fantastic Symphony)

We didn’t have a wedding at my parent’s house either. There was no honeymoon, only a week and a half I was allowed to be absent from work. And one of the days of this “honeymoon decade” my young wife and I went to the Island.

The island is, of course, a peninsula. Otherwise it would not be possible to get there by road. But when we got out of the chock-full bus and breathed in fresh air in full, saw the clear clear sky, the rival blue water of the lake, the slopes of the mountains covered with dense forest, she exhaled in shock:

- What a beauty! Why haven't we come here before?

We loved each other on the Island under the roar of the waves and the rustle of grass, the singing of birds and the chatter of insects, in the feeling of unlimited unity with each other and infinite distance from other people. We were the last or the first people on Earth, we were the embodiment of the masculine and feminine principle of eternal nature, we gave each other all the passion and tenderness, affection and devotion, bliss and love. I did not hesitate to show the heavens and the waters, the sun and the wind, the mountains and forests the nude beauty of my girlfriend, and she did not hesitate too. Time after time waves of passion and desire rolled over us, time after time we intertwined in close embraces, came together and merged into a single whole, time after time we were blown up into a vast space and plunged deep into the abyss of the abyss.

***​

Time after time waves of passion and desire rolled over us, time after time we intertwined in close embraces, came together and merged into a single whole, time after time we were blown up into a vast space and plunged deep into the abyss of the abyss.

But it was no longer on the Island more than a decade and a half years ago, it was a month and a half ago, after the concert. Yes, we have changed outwardly, but our mutual love, our craving for each other, the sharpness of perception of our marital sex have not become less than an iota.

So it was many years ago, when I arrived home after a long trip. Without saying almost a single word, longing because of a long separation, we stared at each other with a hot kiss, tore off our clothes, and not reaching a meter to the sofa, growling from lust and languishing from lust, we conceived our eldest son.

It was the same yesterday, when a spontaneous talk of the spouses lying under a blanket with the experience of what to buy and prepare for the New Year, and how to influence the younger son who received six “fives” in the week and “not good” in behavior , became increasingly interrupted by the squeezing of each other, light kisses with one's lips became rigidly demanding about pumping, and let not growling at the top of their voices and generally trying to be quiet, with an eye on the door behind which our boys slept, still gave themselves to each other with youthful fervor and maturity experiences.

So it was, so it is, and always will be! I confirm with my word and oath record!

***​

Iv. The procession to the penalty
​

He dreams that he killed the one he loved, that he was convicted on
death and lead him to execution to the sounds of the march, then gloomy and
stern, then brilliant and solemn. Dull noise
heavy steps suddenly give way to sharp blows. Finally,
the obsession reappears, as the last thought of love,
interrupted by a fatal blow.
(from the programmatic description of Berlioz's Fantastic Symphony)

​
Yes, there were unpleasant, terrible situations that could separate us. But we were stronger.

I was leaving the house, but after wandering an hour through the night streets, I once again realized that no anger and irritation could outweigh love. And having bought flowers, he returned home with the words of an apology and listened to the same pleas for forgiveness from his crying wife.

There was an accident, when I pressed the brake in an emergency, I felt the car skidding to the right, and it would crash into the next row of cars in the right side. I had a brother-in-law sitting next to me, and behind him was my wife, with her one and a half year old younger son in her arms. We drove home after the successful operation, we finally stopped oppressing the incorrect diagnosis of the incurable child’s illness (my wife still keeps a text message with analysis data on her phone). Then I let go of the brake pedal and hit a truck in front of me, taking a hit. The steering wheel broke two ribs for me, fragments of a mirror cut through the skin on my head, but nothing happened to them.

There was such a strong dedication to one married woman, whom I wanted to withdraw from a depressive state of unrequited love with another man through my virtual conversations and intimate meetings, that I myself did not notice how I began to need her more than she did in me. And in my fantasies I even began to imagine that I fall asleep with her and wake up, that she cooks breakfast for me and kisses before going to work, that I tell her how my day was and listen to the leprosy of the children from her. By themselves, these fantasies about living with her did not cause any rejection. But then this thought burned me: where is my wife, my only beloved woman, in this situation? How could I even mentally, even for a second, imagine that she would not be in my life? It became disgusting and disgusting; it became clear that I was ready to change her (not on the physical, but much more serious: mental-emotional level); it became clear that this is a dead end and so it is impossible. I myself was depressed and felt strong guilt, but my love for my wife and her love for me helped me overcome such an ordeal.

Do not change your favorite! Do not kill love!

***​

- Will you go up or go to the club? - Asked the wife, leaving the taxi in front of our entrance, while I was paying the driver.

“I'll get up,” I replied, glancing at my watch. - Make me some coffee.

- Mom has arrived! Dad has arrived! Cheers, cheers, cheers! - jumped from the delight of our younger.

- Hello parents! How did you relax, how did the concert go? - seriously asked the older teenage son.

- Great! This is fantastic, son! - I replied.

- It was the most usual unusual concert, - the spouse smiled. - Will you go next time with us?

- Not! - shouted the boys in two voices. - Only not this!

They have it ahead. Understanding of classical music and the feeling of love for a woman.

Having washed and changed into homemade, I turned on the computer, lit a cigarette, took the first sip of freshly brewed coffee. Opened tabs mendozy, mamba and classmates. What was new for these two days, I wonder?

Leaning over my shoulder, my wife opened a poster on the website of the Philharmonic.

- Next week Vivaldi's The Seasons and Italian music, and Mozart's Requiem a month later. Let's go?

- Required! - I answered and kissed her.

- you what? - She whispered a little later, when one of my hands penetrated her neck, and the other lifted the hem of her home dress. - Children at home. In the evening. Or do you want to go to the bathroom?

- My favorite, thanks for the concert! And for everything, everything, everything! I love you! She said, hugging me as soon as the latch at the door of the bathroom turned behind us.

- I love you! I can not live without you! You are the very-most ... friend, woman and wife!

V. Sleep on Sabbath Night
​

He sees himself on the Sabbath, in the midst of a terrible crowd of shadows,
sorcerers and monsters gathered at his funeral. Strange
noises, moans, explosions of laughter, distant cries that like
as if others are responding ... The melody-beloved arises again,
but she lost her noble and modest character; Now -
it is a disgusting dance tune, vulgar and vociferous. it
she goes to the coven ... a joyful roar meets her ... she
joins the devilish orgy ...​

***​

... death knell, fool's parody on Dies irae, round dance
sabbath. Dies irae and roundabout dance together.
(from the programmatic description of Berlioz's Fantastic Symphony)

Several times I said that after death my body was burned and the dust dispelled into the wind. And if they suddenly bury him, then so that there is no religious symbolism, since I am an atheist. But it seems to me that the wife will do all the same differently.

She will order a “double” gravestone, with a cross in the middle, on the right will give the task to the masters to write her name and surname, the year of birth without the year of death. And will wait for our last everlasting hug.

To the left of the cross, the master will knock out my first and last name, year of birth and year of death on the stone.

And what happened between these dates?

Dash put. There was nothing?!