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- I'm afraid! She whispered. - I'm afraid!
I even raised myself on my elbow to look into her face, and she, looking up, looked at me with the eyes of a hunted beast. Anxiety was read in her slanted eyes. This was the first time with her.
- Yes, what happened, dear?
- I have a very bad premonition. This trip is yours. I'm very afraid ... I'm afraid of losing you!
- C'mon! How many were these trips. And not a single scratch. - Now Iyana, looking up, looked at me seriously. “No, well, there was one,” I said, referring to the scar on the shoulder blade, the consequences of one of the hot trips. - But that was a hundred years ago, it was young, inexperienced. Itself, in general, and to blame ...
She just shook her head and put it on my shoulder again.
- I'm afraid! - she repeated!
For several minutes we lay silently. Everyone was in some kind of his own, perilous thoughts. Then I gently freed myself from the tender embrace of my young nymph and went to the kitchen, slapping my bare feet on the smooth parquet. After drinking a glass of mineral water - wetting my mouth and dry throat, I returned to the bedroom.
The room was twilight. The light of street lamps penetrated through the window, snatching a whitening silhouette of Aiyana with a spot in the form of an uneven parallelogram, which lay with my back to me. The room was hot, so she didn’t wrap a blanket, but only clamped it between her legs, but hugged her arms, tucking it under her cheek, as if temporarily replacing me with it. The slender back gradually rose and fell in time with the calm breathing. Smooth lines of the lower back turned into small rounded buttocks, with cute dimples, which in turn also smoothly transformed into slender beautiful legs with small feet. I approached close to the bed, and, having stood still for a moment, enjoying the beauty and perfection of my young body, lay down on the edge, pressed against her back, buried my face in pitch black hair smelling like taiga flowers. I kissed her ear, and she started. Kissing, moved to the neck, top of the back, going lower and lower, repeating with his kisses a smooth bend of the spine. Reached the descent and steep rise of the waist turning into the buttocks. Alarmed by my kisses, Aya often breathed, and for me it was a signal. I approached closely, feeling the smooth skin of the buttocks touched my groin, she let me in, parting her hips and leaning towards me, and when I entered her, she cried out miserably, like a wounded bird ...
9.
July 2011, St. Petersburg
July was warm, pleasant, not yet exhaustingly hot. It was noon and we were standing in a cool airport building waiting for a flight - each with his own. Ayana, who had completed the first course of the journalism department, flew home for vacations to Yakutia, with a transfer in Moscow, and two hours later I flew to the same trip that Yura did not let me go on.
Announced landing.
- Did you forget anything? Documents, tickets, money?
“I've checked everything ten thousand times already!” - she smiled, looking at me.
- Remind me what flight?
- 018D, before Magadan!
- Be sure to write as soon as you land!
- I promise, although you yourself will not be in touch on your business trip.
- But, as soon as I turn on the phone, I will know that you are already at home!
- Good!
We were about to say goodbye, when suddenly Ayana said:
- Nikolay, do you know what my name means?
- Name? Ayana? Very beautiful, but ... I never thought about its meaning.
- Ayana means Way.
For some reason she paused and looked into my eyes for a long time.
- So, I have found my Path! ... And our long journey with you is just beginning! - I smiled and pulled the girl to me to kiss.
Having passed through the screening, Ayyana turned around, smiled at me, waving her hand and leaning her mobile to her ear, started talking animatedly into the phone. Watching her tiny figure, I thought about how incredibly lucky I was in life!
Epilogue.
1.
July 2011, St. Petersburg
Yuri Stepanovich Serebryankin, editor-in-chief of the New Era magazine, lit up right in the office, although he last allowed himself such freedom during the perestroika times when he was a correspondent for the second-rate newspaper Trotuar.
He put an empty glass in the table, then immediately took it out again, poured a generous portion of brandy and drank it without wrinkling. Again, removing the glass to the table, the chief editor put out his cigarette butt and immediately lit a new cigarette, dispersing the friable smoke in front of him with a wide hairy palm.
Serebryankin opened the monitor to himself and once again read two reports.
“On Saturday, July 2, a column of peacekeepers heading towards the settlement of Ab *** came under fire from militants. Under the influence of incendiary charges, the column burned out completely. The death toll exceeds 50 people. Among the servicemen was a group of Russian journalists. So far, we managed to identify the three dead journalists. These are Dmitry Morozov, Sergey Sveshnikov and Elena Lutsenko. Two more journalists, Nikolay Buchkov and Yevgeny Shevchenko, are missing. At the scene work the military and rescuers. The search continues. The President of Russia expressed condolences to the families ... ”
Without having finished reading the end, the chief editor shook his head and slammed his fist on the knee and muttered bitterly:
- Eh, Kohl, Kohl! ..
The following message was also disappointing:
“On the night of July 1 and 2, the plane flying the route Moscow-Magadan crashed. As a result of the disaster, 93 passengers and 5 crew members died. Rescuers are already working at the crash site. Psychologists work with relatives arriving at the crash site. The search for the remains of passengers and black boxes continues. According to the preliminary version, the pilot’s error and the malfunction of the aircraft could have caused the crash. The list of the dead passengers of flight 018D ... "
Serebryankin did not finish reading this message either. He knew that Uvarova AK, born in 1992, will be on the list of the dead.
The editor-in-chief leaned back in his chair and squeezed his eyes tightly.
2.
The end of July 2012, p. Chersky, Yakutia
Kusteekh Uvarov brought a bouquet of red flowers of Sardana to a small burial mound. Ayana was very fond of these flowers, miraculously surviving and blooming in the harsh northern climate. Usually at this time they no longer bloom, but the old reindeer herder knew one clearing, it was there, for some miraculous chance, flowers bloomed until early August. This secluded clearing was the favorite place of his youngest daughter. The old Yakut very hard experienced the loss, but did not show his grief, kept everything to himself, so it is accepted among the northern peoples.
Every time he came here to the grave, he recalled their last conversation with his daughter before leaving. The girl finished "perfectly" the first course of the St. Petersburg University of Journalism and flew home for the holidays to visit her relatives. Before she left, she was very agitated and promised to tell her father one very important secret right after arriving home.
But this secret, whatever he carried in himself, went with her to the grave.
Having wiped away the wrinkled hands with the back of a wrinkled hand, the old Yakut straightened and sauntered away, towards the rays of such a distant and so cold sun in these edges.
And I stayed. He stayed at the grave of his beloved, then looking at a modest cross in front of a mound, then watching the retreating back of an old reindeer breeder.
The right leg had not yet had time to get used to the new prosthesis and was straining painfully from a long walk. But this pain was nothing compared to the pain of my loss. Barely find and immediately lose! Why do you have to pay such a high price for fleeting happiness?
Why?
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Very strong story with an unexpected ending. Bravo!
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Thank you very much! Nice to hear!
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I'm not a very big lover of romance on this site, but the story is very good, even hooked a little. Thank.
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Thank! We are very glad that we could hook on this creation!
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At the expense of the ending, do not listen, “kill” two people or have a happy ending, then the ending would be guaranteed to be banal, and the main character survived with a physical and emotional trauma, which adds some drama.
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Yes, probably this is the final and added a certain touch to the work. Thanks you!!!
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The ending is banal for the most I can not and spoils the whole story. To wind up, wind up, wind up happiness, and then kill everyone - such an outcome can be called unexpected only by a person who reads little. If it were not for the final, it would be great.
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Good day! But on the contrary, it seemed to me that the ending in the spirit of "they lived happily and happily and died in one day ..." would be commonplace. But, how many people, so many opinions. Thank you for your feedback. Drop by again!))
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10 few for this story !!!
The author, good job !!! I have not enjoyed reading on this site for a long time. Very rarely, 7 pages read so easily.
I especially liked how you describe the process of shooting, I think you also do not shoot badly.
Romance, like jazz, the one who loves, always listens))
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Thank you so much! It's nice when people are hooked by what you create! And with the photo was a little experience in the past.
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Hurt my soul, thank you
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Thank you very much! Very nice. Drop by again!
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PHOTOGRAPH WITH BIG EARTH
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“If we will be in Kolyma, you are welcome!
- Yes, no, it's better you to us ... "
film "The Diamond Hand" (dir. Leonid Gaidai)
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This story has everything ...
Anyway, all that is needed for melodramatic cranberries. And the exotic of the Yakut north and the pilgrim photographer and the predicted plot, when already at the first meeting of the main character with a young Eskimo aborigine, it becomes clear that he will either come to her or she will come to him when he grows up, but he will definitely do it This is the first. I can not explain why, but the fact that the author bangs the main character at the end was also intuitively clear from the beginning. I was expecting careless handling of a chainsaw or a power-saw, but the author regretted my psyche and slammed the girl intelligently on the ground from ten thousand meters along with ninety-three passengers and crew members. So, for wit, in erotic melodrama.
If we add to this a complete set of cliches and clichés, when a professional photographer is simply obliged to invite the girl to become a model and film. Well, how the photo shoot will end is also clear on the previous page. Further, on the first date, back in 1997, he gives her lozenges and, as they would say, the Freudians thereby develops in her a persistent sucking reflex to his image, which ultimately leads the girl to his bed.
However, it turned out to be not so simple, and this seemingly uncomplicated story does not produce the impression of “soap” and does not fall into the cranberries. I would call this work Adamov extraordinary, if not talented. Perhaps this is my personal experience with the peoples of the north ...
However, first things first.
It should be noted that the mentality of the northern people is conveyed by the author delicately. Especially this manner of naive manipulation, when you realize that they are trying to manipulate you, but they do it so charmingly straightforwardly, that you not only willingly introduce yourself to these blues, but also get a malicious pleasure from the process. As if participating in school amateur activities, you are funny and funny and silly, but everyone is happy and claps their hands from the heart.
In her student years, I had a friend, met on the Internet, and she studied in Pushkin, in the regional university. Education is there, so-so, but the relationship between people was much kinder than ours at the faculty. I eagerly communicated with their company, although it turned out not often. Pushkin is not hitting.
So she herself was a koryachka by nationality, and the girl was quite pretty and charming, although with a very peculiar physique, but more on that later. She grew up in the Arctic Circle, but in quite greenhouses in the conditions of a boarding school, I note from myself that there is no negative connotation there, it’s just a way of being, where children are gathered for a week in the district center, and for the weekend they are transported to villages , almost by helicopter ...
So in this girl naivety so harmoniously coexisted with spontaneity, and modesty, with such colossal sexual promiscuity, that it was impossible not to admire her. At the same time, she so elegantly dragged into the orbit of her sexual intrigues with the boys of all her friends that even this cup did not pass me. I will not shock everyone with concrete examples, I can only say that by the time I met her, I considered myself an experienced and sexually advanced girl, but I will tell you honestly that no one on the planet did more for my corruption than she did. Although outwardly everything looked quite innocent and she was not a lesbian either. It is me who, whatever you think too much. Not that, pink tricks, never in my life, but in general I AM NOT SUCH.
But back to the text, or rather the harsh life of the northerners ...)))
So, Ayana.
I believe that in childhood, the phenomenon of aliens would have made a much smaller impression on this Yakut princess than the arrival of the photographer from the mainland. And if geologists with their routine drunkenness, rape of wives and daughters of local aborigines, have long become an integral part of the local landscape. The photographer who arrived at the same red all-terrain vehicle clearly seemed to the locals to be a man, not from this world. He drank in moderation, did not fight with anyone, did not rape anyone, made friendship with Chairman Kostomarov ...
No doubt about the visit of the young photojournalist, they composed legends that were passed on from mouth to mouth, and waited for the second coming. Well, the young girl, who was the first to meet the photographer on the Yakut land and was not afraid to speak to him, automatically became a symbol of national hospitality and was considered his intended bride.
However, as time went on, the girl grew, and this chimera of Scarlet Sails grew with her, it is extremely difficult to drive out of the girl's consciousness. And then, as luck would have it, the Internet arrived, the girl found in the World Wide Web an idol of her girlish dreams and finally slid off the coils. In other words, if earlier the stories about the photographer were in the nature of myth-making and seasonal obsession, now they have become the character of permanent nonsense, aggravated with the publication of each new photo, and the girl herself has acquired the strong reputation of a village madman.
However, in fairness, for a resident of the tundra, where the snow lies around nine months a year, such dreams of a handsome prince are not only excusable, but also humanly understandable. It is better to dream about a pilgrim photographer and to stare at his photograph, than to watch half-drunk reindeer herders and geologists and helicopter pilots who are associated with them.
It should be noted here that Aiyan, who had entered the adolescent age, undoubtedly created a lot of problems for her closest relatives. It all ended with the fact that Aiyana’s father showed Yakut ingenuity and sent “Headache” to “Source of Problems” ... In other words, the old custom of northern peoples to treat a guest with a wife or daughter sparkled with new facets, like a Yakut diamond named Aiyana.
There would be an end to the fairy tale, and who listened to the well done ...
An elderly photographer gets into bed a young Yakut, who has barely crossed the age of majority. A Yakut student gets an experienced lover with a flat and a photo-tutor in one person.Papa-Yakut successfully dumped his daughter to the mainland, away from sin and fornication ...
And the Yakut understood that the photographer would “click” the daughter perfectly. For the sake of justice in elementary situations, there are no fools there. Northern life generates amazing everyday cynicism in intimate relationships.
I suppose that nothing hindered, this couple live happily ever after, but Shakespeare’s laurels do not give rest to the authors and this northern saga, naturally, turned into a bloody drama. From myself, I note that the drama in this story was enough and so and ruin the main character and cripple the uncle who is here, what is called broadcast from the first person there was no need.
However, the authors of all thundered ...)))
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“Who wants to Kolyma - go out one by one. There, at the moment you will come enlightenment in the mind. "
Leonid Filatov "About Fedot-Archer"
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Dear Anfisa! You are always on top! Thank you for such a detailed analysis! We are waiting for you again !!))
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