A long time ago, even in the last century, at the dawn of my anxious youth, we were doing a production at school. Theatrical and patriotic. I don’t remember how it was called or what it was about, but the point was the following. First on the stage, at a long table, the students sit and make such a long report about the comsomolts-heroes. Type, entry such, ideologically sustained. Then the table is quickly taken away, and the same students come out on stage, but not in school uniforms, but in all kinds of costumes and plays like the graduation ball of the 41st year. Which, of course, is interrupted by explosions and the message of the Soviet Information Bureau about the beginning of the war. The ball participants - who falls, who runs. And against the backdrop of those who fell and did not have time to escape, the romantic guy with the girl, hugged, say touching words and swear allegiance to each other friend and country. Well, the final scene - the participants of the graduation ball, already in military-partisan clothes, with their heads and hands bound, sit as if on the floor of the earth and sing under the accordion, of course, "The Earth". This is, in general, a serious and perceived scenario.

Long prepared and rehearsed. Because they had to come to see a delegation from other schools and a commission from GORONO. Prepared for fame, tried. At the rehearsals, even tears were turned to the eyes of the teachers.

Here is the long-awaited presentation.

In every class there was, is and will be a girl with whom something happens all the time. It was like that with us. and dance. A beautiful girl, beautiful and figurative. But if there is a nail on a bench, then the jeans on the ass about that nail will be torn by Tanka. If someone comes to school in the morning without a dress, but in a fork, it is Tanka. If on someone at physical education on the rope a T-shirt above the head will be delayed, then also on Tanka. And if someone forgets his secret personal girl's diary by some miracle on the literature teacher's table, then yes, of course, Tanka. Everyone knew it, everyone understood it, but they took it into the production anyway. Because she sang wonderfully, danced well, and was just shy and glorious. They thought they would get through – they tried. Fig is there.

It all started at the very beginning, when all the participants were sitting on the stage at a long table. Of course, there was the most real red plate on the table. Very ideological. But is short. And, of course, at the most pathetic moment, Tanke slept to stretch his legs. And not only to spread, but also to swing your knees from side to side. There and there, there and there. And so until the end of the first part. The auditorium was delighted. It was impossible to laugh - the production was serious, about the war, so the people simply bended and crawled under the seats. in the turn. Not to disrupt the pathetic of the speech.

Then there was the graduation ball. Tanka, according to the script, was among those who were not destined to escape, and who had to collapse on the stage under the sounds of the first explosions. She has collapsed. In the first plan. It is believed, tragically, face down. But, fucking, with a ball dress on the neck. And the oath of the "komsomolci" was given against the background of the same, already familiar to the viewer, pink cowards with strawberries, only a view from behind. There was an unprecedented revival in the hall.

And the last scene. The earthquake. Before it started, there was a stumbling. On the accordeon, a strap was broken. And so, playing it, sitting on the floor with everyone, will not work. I need a chair. To bring him to the stage was asked by Tanka, she quickly changed to her short partisan shirt and gymnast. Tanka pulled out the chair in the middle of the empty scene, looked side by side and sat down on it for the case. Through the hall, ready for everything, a joyful bull ran through and someone even shouted, "Well, go!" Tanka at this point, probably, understood that sitting on the chair should not be she, but the accordionist, stood up, smoothly and without turmoil went around the chair, for something closely looked into the auditorium and sat next to it. In the corner. Then I thought a little and went “in Turkish.” Here the multi-suffering room did not stand and collapsed.

The land did not sing. There was no sense.