Before last New Year, we hired a small house in a forested area. How 20 people entered an eight-seater house is not a story. The toilet fell from the second floor, too. The story of how my friend Dima fed the deer. Elephants are not uncommon in these places. They are often hit by drivers. We saw them from far away. Therefore, when Dima said at three o’clock at night, “I will go and feed the deer,” we were not too surprised. Per the ability to be surprised was dampened by alcohol. Taking a pack of mushrooms from the refrigerator, Dima fled. He appeared two hours later. His face shone. His eyes were bright and enlightened. “You guys,” he said. “I think he took my mushrooms from my hand with velvet lips.” In the morning, when we got out of the house, we saw a curved chain of dimmy traces on the snow. They went across the corner of the house and ended up at the plastic sculpture of a deer. Fungi were scattered around him.