Anton, Put Your Shoes On!

“Lena and Yeliseyev walked past. They turned around. The girl ran up again, reaching his fingers toward his face. He stood barefoot, blinded by protest. They couldn’t make peace because they were young. They wanted to turn life toward themselves, but it wouldn’t turn. It stuck out with sharp corners.

Then Anton challenges fate: if life doesn’t count him, he won’t count it either. And barefoot through the snow. Who did what to whom?

At the airport, a bus was waiting. Yeliseyev got in with all his gear and settled into the back seat. He shut his eyes. In his head there was a buzz, as if a crowd had gathered for a rally. A general hum—and over it, voices. There was no rally at all, just drinking until four in the morning. And on the plane too. And here’s the result.

His wife didn’t like it when he went away. She knew that once without supervision, Yeliseyev would let loose full throttle: he’d find a woman and drink without stopping. At home he somehow managed to keep a routine. He was afraid of his wife. But on business trips he pressed a button and catapulted himself into the fourth dimension—flying away on the wings of the wind.

The bus had come-crew members boarding: actors, makeup artists, the director, a cinematographer. Creators making the film—and the middle layer that services the filmmaking process.

The expedition was planned for five days. The men brought what was necessary; everything fit into travel bags—even into briefcases. And the women dragged such suitcases as if they were relocating to another country for good. After all, men and women are completely different biological creatures.

Yeliseyev liked women more. The women understood him. He could lie drunk, with mucus everywhere—and they’d say he was refined, extraordinary, a fragile genius. Then he couldn’t remember them afterwards. Alcohol erased his memory—whole chunks of time fell out. Only photographs remained.”