My husband has a friend, everyone calls him the dead man. I wondered where this nickname came from. The words of my husband. Leha lived in the village with her mother, an alcoholic. He looked after her and tried to cure her alcohol dependence. He had to work wherever he could, only to make money to code his mother from alcohol. He abandoned school, unloaded cars, and worked on construction. He collected money and took his mother to town. They coded. It wasn’t over a month, and she was again for a glass. Lecha could not withstand, was psychotic and left the city at night. No one year, two. I thought the building collapsed. There was no mother or business. I did not sweat. Three years later, a young man’s body was found in the forest. The mother recognized her son. Buried the boy. Neighbors gave her money. And she is happy. I did not drink vodka for breakfast. All of his large composition of alcoholics were drunk. There is no money left for the monument. The neighbors then photographed themselves and placed a cross. A year later, Leah returns from the city. It turns out that the guy has found a good job, even rents a room in the city, enrolled in part-time training. He did not use his documents anywhere after his arrival, nor did he know that he was buried long ago. In the village, as they saw a living boy, and even in the light in everything (it was summer), they barely rolled away. Since then they have been called dead.