After graduating from university, in September 1982, I was assigned to the “postbox”, who knows, so encrypted from the NIH and factories, one way or another related to defense. With the employee of our department Nikolai Aleksandrovich Aleksandrov (hitting on "O") I met a couple of months later at another construction site or vegetable base. In the status of a “young specialist” I passed them without counting. During the few days I spent at the research institute at my desk, I managed to distinguish Nikolai Alexandrovich from among other co-workers. He was distinguished by his constant positive and, somewhat hypertrophic, sense of humor. For the editorial college of the stengazette he could, passing by, out of pity throw so many ideas and jokes, that then half of the institute made a pilgrimage to our department to shake in the voice. Women constantly pulled him to repair household appliances, bags with broken pens and broken lightning. To say they loved him is to say nothing. He answered them the same, but he had another “all-absorbing passion,” alcohol as such, and any alcohol-containing liquids in particular. In those years, they appeared in shops extremely rarely, mostly on the eve of holidays, and then again went into the deficit category. This attachment looked somewhat strange, because in his own expression he was a disabled of the “fifth group”, because in the column of nationality he wrote “Yes”. “Everyone thought he was a Jew, but he turned out to be a drinking man.” At the same time, even a deadly dose could not bring him down, in the eyes of others he looked just under a "light degree".
All of us, from time to time, became the heroes of his jokes, which then, in the form of folklore, walked through the institutional corridors and smokers. But one day Alexander himself became a hero and, at the same time, a victim of his own joke.
Somehow, not at all on a sunny day, he appeared to work in dark glasses, which rather emphasized than concealed the impressive size of the bleach under his left eye. Later after lunch, history became known.
The night before, Nikolai Alexandrovich did not sleep at all. The wife was already shaking to the right of him (the fact that she was on the right and the woman was large and physically strong played a fateful role). Two adult daughters were already married and lived separately, there was definitely no one to talk to. Lying down and looking into the dark ceiling was boring. Lightly touching his wife’s shoulder, he asked, “Lusya, don’t you sleep?” Lucia just shrugged her shoulder, which meant, stay away. Then, with a voice full of tragedy and repentance at the same time, he said, “I can’t live with this, I can’t fool you for so long. I should have told you this a long time ago, but I was afraid.” Grabbing on the right stopped, from which Nikolai Alexandrovich made the correct conclusion that he had an attentive listener. Again, sorrowfully breathing, he said, “Our second daughter is not from you!” With a scream, “Cobble! When you are running!Lucia, turning out like a sprinkle, struck her husband to the right.
A few minutes later, already in the kitchen, trying to stop the blood coming from the broken nose, Alexanderov heard the stormy and relentless cries coming from the bedroom suddenly ceased. Then Lucy went out, took a frozen chicken from the refrigerator and handed it to her husband, saying, "Now, attach it so that there is no bleaching."
According to his own testimony, Aleksandrov then fell asleep as a child, and Lucia, from a sense of guilt, waved until the morning.