The case was in the village. In the sub-chief collage, where we, six young specialists (four boys and two girls) in the rainy fall of the eighty-seventh sent the management of the native factory. This colloquium was so dull that if you imagine the ass of the world, and then find on this ass the most hidden and inaccessible point, this will be the village of twenty courts in which we end up. A night on a train, four hours on a collective bus on a road that had traces of asphalt, and another hour and a half just on the fields in the truck of a tractor "Belarus", with three bags of potatoes and two dead animals.
What is it? “Has a thick finger in the carcass of a pig and a pig,” Tanya asked. I will not go with the bodies.
They are not bodies. He responded by a tractor driver.
Yes! yes! And what then?
Your food.

We were settled in an empty house on the outskirts of the village. The rain did not stop for a day. Every morning of our new life began with the arrival of a brigadier at eight in the morning. A few words about the brigadier should be said separately. He was a man of middle age and about the same degree of intoxication. He was not a drunkard, not an alcoholic, it was just such a way of life. Neither sober nor drunk we have ever seen him, he was always in the same state. And every day, strictly at eight in the morning, he came and announced that due to weather conditions, the battle for the harvest was postponed indefinitely. Then we were given to ourselves. We just did not have fun. Cards, anecdotes, books, games - everything quickly ended and tired. And once after dinner, when we were sitting as usual and trembling about nothing, we talked about pioneering camps. Where and how they lived in childhood. And the lion said:
I liked the camp. We had a party in the camp every day. Today, for example, is February 23. And we went on strike all day, depicting the combat squad, singing military songs. Tomorrow is March 8. We congratulated the girls, prepared a festive concert for them, made some gifts, and depicted galantine knights. and so on. Shortly for the change we had time to celebrate all the holidays that are in the year. Including the New Year.

Shut up! Suddenly one of us said. Do we celebrate the New Year too?! to

Everyone laughed, but nobody took those words seriously. But somehow imperceptibly and involuntarily, this idea suddenly became full of real and clear prospects. Soon all the plans and roles were detailed. Since the morning, work has been over.

It was a hundred meters to the nearest tree tree, and an hour later the beautiful tree was standing in the middle of the cottage, relying on the ceiling, and emitting the incredible and unparalleled smell of the holiday. After that, even the most outspoken skeptics have changed their mood dramatically. We cooked, made decorations, cut snowflakes and garlands, painted patterns on the windows, and came up with what to make the costumes of Santa Claus and Snowmen. As a festive drink from Aunt Vali, two three-liter pots of village samsung were purchased, and several cans of strawberries. At the same time, as a bonus, she managed to kick out an apple girland for a while. After weakening a portion of the samon with strawberry and well water, we obtained several varieties of beautiful strawberries.

By eight o’clock, everything was almost ready. The table was broken by an abundance of snacks and drinks. The tree shone with lights and filled with bright jewelry. The music played loud. The girls at the stove drove the last marathon. Soon the celebration began.

What to say? Per a more bright, fun, and unusual New Year I will not remember in my life. There was everything, and New Year’s gifts, and Santa Claus, and “Yellow, light up!"and the styles on the table, and the chord around the tree tree, and even the New Year's disco. At three o’clock, we were silent. Not the last role in this was played by the authentically walled village self-driving.

At eight in the morning, the door opened as usual, and a figure of a brigadier appeared on the threshold. The brigadier took a step forward, opened his mouth for his traditional morning greeting, and so with his mouth open and measured. In the middle of the cottage stood a tree flowing through the fires. Under the tree, putting a bag of gifts under his head, and stuck his nose in a folded beard, Santa Claus slept sweetly. In the corner on the bench, she sang swirling with a snowflake. On the right side of the window was a table with the remains of a rich New Year's meal, all in serpentine and snowflakes.

The brigadier stood for a minute, then closed his mouth, approached the table, poured a glass of самогоon, and without a snack drank. Then, trying not to make noise, he walked around the room, looked out the window, admired the tree, sat down near Santa Claus, returned to the table, and poured it again. After drinking the second glass, he sat down, smoked looking at the tree, then cleaned the edge of the table, placed his hands with a cross, placed his head on them, and grabbed.

He woke up an hour and a half later, at a clean table. We sat at the same table and played cards, trying not to make any noise, so as not to disturb the peace of the collective chief. The girls prepared breakfast. The brigadier looked muddy, first to the empty table, then to us, then to the rest of the room, and asked with a whisper:
Where is the tree?
What tree? He asked Valer, handing over the cards.
The tree. The New Year. She stood here. The brigadier said in parts.
We looked surprised.
Was the New Year’s Eve here? I asked Valer. Did the cowardly rabbit not jump under her?
I did not jump. The brigadier said. Santa was sleeping under it.
"I too," said Lechka, "this kind of shit can be dreamed, especially if you are sleeping uncomfortable.
Good to fool! The brigadier said. Did I think you went crazy?
No of course! Valeria said and asked. – Victor Ivanovich, what is the number today?
The brigadier turned his hand with the clock, then said, "Tyfu on you!“He stood up from the table and walked into the middle of the house. There, for some reason, he looked first at the ceiling, then, more closely, under his feet, probably trying to find some confirmation of his words, but found nothing. Again, looking carefully but unsuccessfully around the table, he returned to the table and asked:
What to drink?
Maybe a champagne? I proposed a leopard. A cold one, right?
You will joke with me! The brigadier said.
Valera got out of the store a bank with the remains of the monk.
Silently drinking, the brigadier, not saying goodbye, went out of the door, and dissolved in a moist mist.
More in the morning, without any particular need, he tried not to come to us.