Sister Faina Ranevskaya, Isabella, lived in Paris. Due to a number of circumstances she moved to the Soviet Union. On the very first day of the visit, despite the summer heat, Isabella pulled on the cotton-stockings, wore a silk coat, gloves, a hat, sprinkled herself with Chanel, and told her sister:
– Fainochka, – I go to a butcher’s shop, buy bon-fillet and I’ll cook dinner.
– Do not! Ranevskaya exclaimed in horror. There was a flourishing deficit and eternal lines in the country. She understood how this would affect the unprepared resident of Paris.
– Do not! – I’ll buy it myself!
“Fainochka, you must be able to choose a bon-fillet, and I can do it,” Isabel said proudly, and headed for the front door. Ranevskaya, like a Panfilov tanker, rushed to cross it.
– I will go with you!
– One pound of meat to choose together – this is nonsense! – Sister said and left the apartment. Ranevskaya made her last attempt to save her sister from the shock of Soviet reality:
– But you do not know where our stores are!
She turned and with a condescending smile reproached:
– Do you think I can not find a butcher’s shop?
And hid in the elevator.
Ranevskaya collapsed into a chair, imagining the consequences of the first meeting of a foreign sister with developed Soviet socialism.
But they say that God helps the holy fools and blissful: just a block later, Isabella Georgievna stumbled upon a small shop, a sign over which she promised “Meat products.”
She looked inside: the queue was crowded and buzzed, the sweaty butcher threw the cartilages and veins that he had cut off on the scales, calling them meat, and in the cashbox a fat cashier with a tower of dyed hair on his head, like a dog from a booth, periodically barked customers.
Barreling, sideways, Isabella made her way to the counter and turned to the seller:
– Good afternoon, monsieur! How are you feeling?
Buyers realized that this circus, and, free, and, as in the freeze-frame, all froze and died down. Even the sweaty butcher did not bring the next portion of “meat products” to the scales. And the former Parisian continued:
– How do you sleep, monsieur? … If you are suffering from insomnia, try before going to bed take two tablespoons of wine ….. And how are your children, monsieur? You do not punish them? ..
You can not punish children – you can lose a spiritual connection with them. Do you agree with me, monsieur?
“Yes,” the bewildered butcher finally exclaimed and nodded in confirmation.
“I did not doubt it.” You look like my teacher of literature: you have an intellect on your face.
Not really realizing what exactly is appearing on his face, the butcher wiped sweat from his face just in case.
“Monsieur,” went to Isabella Georgievna, “I need a half pound of bon-fillet.” I hope you have.
“Yes,” the butcher nodded and ducked into the pantry. He was gone for a long time, obviously, he caught a calf, caught it, stabbed it and cooked a bo-fillet. I returned with a portion of meat that had been weighed and wrapped in paper.
“Thank you,” Isabel said. And she added:
“I’ll come to you on Tuesdays and Fridays, at four o’clock in the afternoon.” It suits you?
“Yes,” the butcher nodded for the third time.
Paying at the checkout, Isabella Geogievna pleased the fat cashier, pointing at her bleached hair peroxide, twisted on her head in a heavy tower:
“You have a very fashionable hair color, madam, in Paris, all the women are also painted in blondes.” But you’d better dismiss your hair so that curls lay on your shoulders: loose hair, madam, will decorate your affable face.
The flopped cashier stuck two index fingers into her cheeks and began to stretch them forcefully, trying to smile.
When, having returned home, Isabella unfolded the packet, Faina Georgievna gasped: she had not seen such fresh meat for a long time, apparently the butcher cut him off from his personal stocks.
– Bon-fillet must be able to choose! Isabel said proudly.
Since then every Tuesday and every Friday she visited “Meat products”. These days, exactly at four o’clock, the butcher let go of the cashier, closed the store, hung on the door sign “Recount”, put a large antique chair next to the counter, bought in an antique store, seated in him his dear guest, and she told him for hours about him Parisian life, the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Champs Elysees …
And he, leaning his head on the palm of his hand, listened to everything, listened, listened … And on his face suddenly appeared an unexpected, naive, childish smile …
– Jacob Alexandrovich Segel
P. S. The world around us does not change with violence and foul language. It changes with a kind word and respectful attitude to man. (#biblicalrevelations# bibleyskieotkroveniya #biblicalnotes # bibleyskiezametki)
Sugar And Spice... Among Other Things 