In traveling we often encounter unusual and not always explainable events and phenomena. Such impressions leave a deep emotional mark, live in our memories, and sometimes the most unexpected materialize. One such event told Sergey Pupyshev. “Travel writing contest” organized by “Tape.ru” with the support of “the Rambler.Travel” continues.
In my youth my friends and I often traveled around the country wanted different places to see. We stopped not far from Tallinn*, pitched a tent on the Bank of the sluggish river. The river, arching of the winding body, cut into two uneven halves loaf nekoshenom great meadows. On the one hand it flowed to the dark strip of broadleaved forest, with the other flowed from under a large concrete bridge running over his shoulders fireflies machines.
Thickened the evening. Leaving white nights faded jelly impregnated slurred the July twilight. Just downstream about a hundred yards from our camp was full of lonely tent.
While I was busy with our tent, friends picked up dry firewood, and soon a camp-fire reddened the coals, and the smell of roasted meat appetizing cloud covered sleeping area.
From a neighbouring tent came out and people were headed in our direction. The closer he got, the more hit us its huge growth and athletic body.
— Tervist, — greeting, nodded the giant, and only then we noticed that the left sleeve of an expensive tracksuit was lifelessly empty.
Hey! — my brush sank into his palm. — Come to the table, I invited a friendly stranger.
For barbecue conversation. Drink the guest refused categorically. Turned out to be an ex — athlete, athlete, metal hammer. Last year won a major international tournament, to celebrate, I drank. And a lot clumsy. Lay down to sleep. Slept almost without stirring for sixteen hours, powerful body pinning the left hand. Hand swollen, choked and gone. Amputated. Together with the arm lost the sport and most of my friends. Girlfriend went. The only one left. Second month living in a tent, feel sorry for themselves.
— Morning-o-om me, cha-Oh, — easy, familiar way was invited, and left, slightly hunched over.
The boys fell asleep. I couldn’t sleep. I thought about the huge Estonian, more recently, successful athlete, and now abandoned and depressed. Wanted tea. I threw firewood into the fire half asleep and walked down to the river. Squatting down, he dipped a pot of water. Two feet from me a stubborn valve out of the water the old tree root. Dark-gray larva mayflies** slowly crawled out on the water, stopped, as though thinking for a moment, then wavered, broke the old cover, the head, the back and something, still crumpled, back. Right before our eyes, shivering, that “something” was killed, turning into white wings — was born a beautiful butterfly. Another moment, and she, taking off, in his first flight dropped in a long boring underwater life shell…
I, enchanted, metering. It seemed that the entire river turned into a space launching pad. Nymphs were raised to the water surface by thousands, was reborn and flew, forming a whirlwind sinokru. Live the cloud grew, multiplied, turning into the many faces of fantasy figures. All that white splendor that rose up, then crumbled to pieces, sometimes froze for a second, then again and again holiday-dancing flight gained violent force blinding eye winter storms.
Photo: sergio_p / Depositphotos
Don’t know how long I stood without moving. Frozen, time has stopped. It seemed that a whirlwind had carried me to the edge of a distant childhood. Around moths fluttered my wishes, white vortex swirled unfulfilled dreams. I wanted to slip out of your boring cocoon, break associated with earth and the umbilical cord, reborn, to soar, to spread my wings, and whirl in this sleek sinless dance…
A quiet sound made me wince and turn around. The Estonian people stood at their tents. Crumpled strange sounds, breaking through the rustle of wings, barely audible to me. He sang! Sure, he sang! This huge, gloomy loneliness crushed by a giant was in the center of the living rustling clouds. First, the insecure voice was shaking and barely made it to the night. But everything changed — became stronger, gaining full strength voice. And then the river exploded from the abundance of feeding fish. High notes were out fishing a small thing. Hard, low booze, eating the fallen moths, big fish. But he sang louder and better, helping himself, he conducted a healthy hand. The stump of the forearm, trying to catch up with a full hand, fiercely fought in the void of the sleeve. And sang, rang night. Sparkled, gleamed white spots life…
When the singing stopped, lace the Blizzard of crumbled. One piece white crinkle scarf disappeared in the distance, another crashed into the river, fumbling with a shaking wings in the heavy water, and already well-fed, lazy fish mouths was shamelessly ramkali living blanket. Third white wing flew in my direction. Butterflies crashed into me, curled in the ears, forced his hands to cover his eyes. Thousands flew to the fire and fell, burning alive in it. Fire and light with magical, deadly force has attracted, and they, not seeing anything more beautiful and bright for their underwater life, followed, trying to hug the delicate translucent wings solemn, deadly beauty. Having splashed out the water from the pot into the fire, I went down to the river again, and then again and again until extinguished the fire and the fire site is not clouded by asphyxiating cloud of heavy smoke, scared tysyacheletie the cloud.
Finally all this action went down on the river, leaving on the shore and on the water a thick carpet breathing his last butterfly. All was quiet… Dead and night…
The Estonian was still standing on the shore. I walked up to him.
— I nick-when-a-me! — exclaimed he. — What’s th-that? — following departing a living cloud, he asked, turning in my direction.
And then I remembered: my father told me about this unusual phenomenon — a mass departure of one-day butterflies, born in the dying sunset and the first rays of the sun.
Is — Blizzard. So we say.
— Met-te-e-Elitsa, met-te-e-Elitsa — th-that I nick-when-and-and don’t forget, ‘ repeated the astonished Estonian…
Twenty one big gulp of life — and here I am, a Mature man walking in winter Stockholm, bump to the poster. The face of the Billboard looked familiar. I could be wrong, I certainly met with this person. Noticing my interest, Roland, my Swedish partner of Russian descent, said, “I know him. This is a known singer from Estonia. For ten years every winter’s coming on tour. An amazing voice”.
We wandered around Stockholm. Suddenly samuilo, covered with snow, and we hid from the weather under the roof of trading pavilion. The people were few, but one man, studying advertising and standing with her back to me stood a huge growth.
— Blizzard, same as home, thoughtfully and for some reason I said aloud.
— Ne-e-et, not met-te-e-El. I Odie-and-in Russian sa-a-al, th-TA — meth-te-e-Elitsa — slowly turning said smiling giant.
* In the USSR the name of the city Tallinn was written with one “n”.
** The mayfly — graceful winged butterfly, living from a few hours to one day. The mass departure mayflies — a rare beautiful sight. It usually occurs in July and August. In the larval stage (nymph) lives in the pond two or three years. A favorite food for almost all fish species. Butterfly, emerged from larva has no mouth and does not eat. Immediately after birth, the butterfly goes in your first and last mating flight, the rhythmic and festive dancing.
