She won't let chaos prevail. This morning, the story will be clear and complete, and she will be able to retell it: she took her daughter and her little girlfriend to music. This will be a fact. A drawing on the surface of time. And the feelings will move to the distance of an indistinguishable background, which does not necessarily need to pay attention to.
She crosses the snowy street mass, dodges the splashes. It's hot. Her legs are heavier than in a recurring childhood dream, where she has to run along the country street on an urgent but incomprehensible need. It is necessary, but not possible - legs do not obey.
Masha votes by the side of the road, at the turn. Slow down the six. She thought that these were transferred back in the nineties. The windshield is decorated with two icons, an air freshener in the form of a Christmas tree and a silicone line on a suction cup.
The chauffeur is a jovial Georgian, twenty-five years old in Moscow, who doesn't mind chatting, driving away the snowy morning that closes behind the glass - but the conversation doesn't stick, because Masha doesn't have the strength. He receives instructions to wait at the entrance.
The yard is small. Since the divorce of offices and offices on the ground floor, the struggle for car seats has become intense and constant.
Masha reminds herself that nothing terrible is happening. Just a nervous morning. Just a shame. Now everything will level off: she will bring the documents, she will send the girls to study, she promises herself a reward. Good coffee. Do not react like that.
The apartment is so quiet, mysterious.
Masha suddenly remembers how she was brought in from her summer house at the end of summer. Everything was the same, but not the same: it smelled differently - dust, peace, room sizes - others, ceilings - higher, everything - strange, as a memory of a once familiar world. Even then, she knew that the impression was short-lived. In a day, the other one will be wiped out, and everything will move back to its original place. It will become familiar again, and the secret of these first impressions will go away. She tried to keep it, even checked - does the apartment still smell new? Is she still a stranger? But it was like trying not to fall asleep - once and in the morning.
Having dropped her shoes, she searches for a backpack. Sweat, in a coat, in a hat, big as a mountain. Here he is - in the kitchen, hanging in a chair. Driver's license, insurance, everything is in place.
Masha holds the documents in her hand. Looking at the clock.
She sits on the floor, leaning her back against the wall. She looks around - pink walls, table edge, shelves with dishes - long, heavy. Orange plastic tube under the chair. Balcony door, window. Masha looks at it all from below, the way her daughter looks. As a child, she, Masha, collected mushrooms, pulled out of the moss underbelly on long curved legs. On the surface, flush with the moss, she could only see the hat. The style to press with his palms on the sides of the hat and elastic moss settled, and the mushroom grew - its tender prey. Mom said that this is because you are close to the ground, and you see everything. On the tiled floor - crumbs big and crumbs small. Silence. The floor is hard, cool, if you lie on it in a soft blowing coat, it will probably turn out to be cozy. But it does not do so.
She imagines Alina, Andrei and Alinin's parents in a restaurant. That's what Alina calls restaurants - restaurants. She imagines the moment when parents give them a picture - their royal portrait. Is it packed? Wrapped? What size is it? You should have asked. Andrei - in an ermine cloak, rod and scepter are attached. Alina - in a tiara with colored stones. Sapphires, emeralds. And Rose is a gentle, royal offspring. What do they drink then? Wine? Who pays for it - parents or husband? Where do they put or put a picture in a restaurant? How do they make it so that it does not wrinkle in the trunk?
Then she represents her daughter's face. She goes up. She tightens her shoes, jumps on one leg. There is a crunch. It's a rocking horse that somehow ended up on the floor in the hallway. The crunch brings her back to silence.
The horse's head has broken off. Masha keeps her in the palm of her hand. The temptation is too great: she can't resist and breaks the toy to the end. Tears off the tail, separates the body from semicircular deafness, breaks off the legs. Like a gingerbread crumbs.
I want to clench my fist to pain. She is surprised by her own anger. Wow, she's angry! She is angry for this hand, which was put on her back the third day in a masterly way. And that she is silent. And Alina - stupid, faithful, touching - and the slush, and the more so on the traffic policeman. The more angry she gets, the better she gets.
Masha gladly throws the toy into the garbage can and drinks a glass of water in a volley. Her daughter probably won't remember: she has a million things. At the very least, Masha will think of something.
**
Thirteen minutes later Masha opens the door: Alina reads the girls a book about dogs. Dogs have convex plastic eyes in which ghost balloons shake. Scary dogs. Alina looks a little scared, but smiles.
- I'm telling them Aunt Masha will be here now, right, girls? You see? That's it.
The girls look at Masha questioningly, waiting. Masha presses her nose to her elastic, convex daughter's cheek, kisses her in the temple and nose bridge.
Then, while Masha runs to the traffic policeman's office, puts the documents in his puffy palm, puts his passport deeper into his bag, waits for him to look through it slowly - she wishes Alina to give them what they want and to rid them of the dark, inevitable. Wishes sincerely, almost passionately - like herself.
- Don't forget your documents anymore, Maria Dmitrievna," Policeman said fatherly.
- For the first and last time.
- You have to be more attentive," he adds. Masha pretended she couldn't hear, she'd already turned her back. Masha rushes to her own. There is snow all around.