Hands (here the Viscount has obviously added to the arsenal their one general unfamiliar motorist at whom both hands have
been raked through on Neva Dubrovke) have been especially terribly spoilt at it. Concerning these spoilt hands in the story
also arises sjuzhetoobrazujushchy conversation - Eric of P.Dovadzher tells to the lyrical hero mysterious enough story about
the friend who was gone (disappeared, dissolved in air) it is literally at it in the face of: have just left in smart, Eric and ten
steps along the street has not had time to make - was distributed at it for spinoju the desperate shout, any convulsive noise,
and all - more than its friend anybody never saw.
Without traces. Any proofs. With the ends. And when in the morning Eric went to police to give evidences, it has been
brought down by the huge car which number had not time to notice... provaljalsja half a year in hospital, has for ever lost
health, has turned in present razvalinu. The disappeared friend have not found, business have stopped. All. Such here
The lyrical hero is shaken and intrigued, but the main thing still ahead! Next morning it is found out that Eric of P.Dovadzher
has safely faded, having left a note in which it made the most refined apologies "for that small mystification, to play which
yesterday the disgusting boredom - the companion of so disgusting weather" has induced "it". The boredom was great, the
case has seemed to it is convenient, and he hopes only that "the history has turned out is not too bad". The lyrical hero
needs to shrug only shoulders and to burst out laughing.
But it yet the end! For all salt of Vikontova of a plan consisted in a story ending. Characters meet again - in a year, in the
same place, on deserted coast, among slippery boulders and seaweed decaying after outflow. Seagulls shouting rush over
waves, almost concerning with their wings, fall on a coastal pebble, the storm approaches, the crimson sun creeps away in a
black cloud... And here our hero sees, how P.Dovadzhera's Eric's pale exhausted face becomes even more pale ("...
Becomes whitish as a stomach of the old man..."). Eyes of Dovadzhera stiffen, he hard leans against the powerful polished
cane and suddenly starts to mutter, muffledly and as though with a great effort: "... These birds over waves... And this
decline... Forgive me... They remind me one history... A terrifying story... It has begun in Somo..." The point. The story end.
The improvisator was inspired, the modern history - was born.
- Good ending, - Stanislav fairly recognised. He has suddenly thought that the Viscount, actually, has written this story about
itself. He also is this Eric P.Dovadzher, all life inventing zubodrobitelnye stories from a head because to it it is forbidden to tell
true stories. However, in its this Dovadzhere it was not felt, actually, any implied sense, it has turned out simply the inventor,
the improvisator and the actor. It is more in it there was nothing. And after all could be!. To tell it to the Viscount?. Or it is not
necessary? What for?.
- Also it is all? - The Viscount has enquired. Is - all your delights? - "Inability to feel delight - a knowledge sign", - declared
Stanislav. He has suddenly decided to ask nothing and nothing to speak.
- It is what knowledge? - The Viscount suspiciously has enquired.