told a friend.

When he was 6-7, in the early 1980s, he spent summer holidays in the village with his grandmother and grandfather. The village is small, under Melitopol.

And then on a hot day, when no one was home, he examined the surroundings. During the summer, there are hardly any people in the village. Everyone at work. Who in the field, who in the shepherd or in the gardens. Then he walked through the garden, and then walked behind the roof, and saw an eagle rushing through his deeds. He wanted to catch up, but that york passed by and got into the hole. Skyrda was called a huge pile of seed, standing behind the barracks. My grandfather had been cutting and laying the seed in this stake all summer – cattle for winter. And this scratch was not small. And higher, and more sarai.

So, the shrimp is there. Inside in. He is not seen. My friend said, and I was intelligent at the time. As I thought. And I knew that the hunters in hunting cast smoke from one side of the pit or cave, and they themselves catch the beast from the other side. I decided to do as well. Let the smoke from one side of the hole, because the hole is frightened and runs out from the other side. Here I will catch him. of logic?

I take fireworks in the summer kitchen, carefully light up the seed, then smoke it to smoke... And it does not extinguish! I am confused trying to extinguish it, but where is it? The dry seed. It burns more and more. What to do? The flame is above me. I am an officer.

A scream from a neighbor’s garden. A neighbor stumbled somewhere, jumping to me. In just a few minutes there were a dozen people in the yard. A couple of men, mothers, villas and grabbers pulled away the burning seed. Some aunts with children a little older than me, pulled water from the well and poured water. Everything goes so well, so quickly. Some get water from the well, others pull these waters, others pour the fire. The child's thinning pieces of seed are tapped. I am alone on the side of the outcast. Destroyed quickly. Probably for five minutes.

Five minutes later, my grandfather touches me on the brick and, taking me for the skin, he starts reporting.

You could burn the house! The whole courtyard! You could burn the village. The summer! The heat! The seed could fly and burn everything to... to... to... and burn everything to...

He did not matured with me, and the vocabulary was lacking, plus all the emotions. And he is such:

Do you know who you are after that? You... you... you are a fascist!

That was probably his greatest insult. I got rid of it and ran to the house.

They talked to me a few times and explained. I said I understood everything. I didn’t touch the lights. I understood it only after a few years. and terrified. I could actually burn the village. How well people acted... I am amazed until now.

And “fascist,” with the light hand of my grandfather, I was called for a long, several years. Not only friends, but also peasants. Nevertheless, besides me, he had three grandchildren and two grandchildren, and they all came to host in the summer, and it was necessary to distinguish them all.

Whose granddaughter is so dressed?

This is “fascist.”

A-A is a fascist.

M is...

And here many years have passed. I forgot that story long ago. My grandmother and grandmother are not there for a long time. And I am already an adult, many years have not been in this village, I go with my daughter to visit relatives. Sitting on the bus at the motorway station. Two unfamiliar grandmothers come to me.

Who is going to come to our village? And to whom? Whose will you be?

I don’t like to talk about it, but there’s nowhere to go. I answer.

You are a grandson like that. Son of such?

and yes.

The “fascist”?

and AGA.

Grandmothers grumble satisfied, the daughter's eyes are rounded, and I turn to the window.

For some reason I am very sad.