There will be a chain of invested stories, like in "Thousand and One Nights": the storyteller met the dervis, who gave him the story of a merchant, who knew one sailor, and already with the sailor something remarkable happened. But without that no.

Two years ago, in the spring of 2018, I went to the dentist. I live in Chicago, the teeth of a Russian dentist named Xenia. She, whilst crawling in my mouth, always tells me something interesting, and I support the conversation with whispering and ehecaning, with an open mouth you can’t say anything more valuable.

That time she told me about her other patient, Andy (the second link in the chain). Andy under 70, an ordinary American of the middle class. He had an old friend, apparently from school, from Argentina, some kind of Pedro or Pablo (third link).

This Pablo, like the Argentinian, was obsessed with football and took a vacation every four years and went to the world championship to get sick. The funds allowed, the family did not object because of the lack of one. This continued until 2006, when Pablo was diagnosed with cancer. Despite the loss of hair after chemistry and the loss of a number of insides after surgery, he felt pretty good and decided to go to Germany, but he was eager. And he called Andy.

For Andy, like for every decent American, there was only one football – the one with an oval ball. A socker is a nonsense that girls sometimes play. But this is the case, a friend of Pablo dies, asks for help, and also pays for everything. And Andy agreed.

They had a great time. We watched all the matches, drank a barrel of beer, broke the voices, sick for Argentina. When Argentina left, they fell sick for Portugal. Four years with enthusiasm remembered it, then went to South Africa, again together. Pablo was already in a wheelchair, but this did not prevent them from greatly falling into vuvuzeles, sick for Argentina and then for Spain. Andy even began to understand the rules and remember some of the players.

After South Africa, cancer still hit Pablo. He left a will, in which some amount was written off by Andy with a mandatory condition: to spend it on trips for all future World Cups. Andy travelled to Brazil alone. One was standing on the podium and crying when Argentina came to the final, imagining how happy Pablo would be.

When it became clear where the next World Cup will be held, Andy’s wife said that Brazil is Brazil, and she won’t let him go to Russia. Will go with him. Then their daughter said that they both went crazy, she will not let the two crazy old men into the wild country and goes too. Andy breathed and bought three sets of tickets instead of one. But when he looked at the cost of housing in Moscow and Peter during the championship, he realized that something had to be done, otherwise all of Pablo’s money would end right now and there would be nothing left for the next championship. In Brazil, such a shame was not even near.

Andy sought help from the only Russian he knew, his dentist, Xenia. In Moscow, she found him a room with her distant relatives, and Peter knew no one and asked if I didn't know anyone.I don't regret, I threw a request on Facebook, and immediately found a friend from Peter with a free room and almost free English, who for quite a moderate money agreed to accommodate Andy and his family.

Why I remembered all this. Yesterday I was treating my teeth again, and Xenia told me she had Andy recently. very happy. He had a grandson. The daughter’s parents were already worried that she would never get married and would never give them grandchildren. Luckily, she came out and gave it. Her husband is a Croatian, a little younger than her, a beautiful man. Where did we meet? Yes, in St. Petersburg, in the fan zone, and we met.

I think of this newborn boy. What a small world he lives in. In a world where a Croatian dad and an American mom met in Russia, where my mother came by the will of an Argentinian. And with the ma-a-alien participation of one Belarusian Jew, about whom this guy probably will never know.