38

“Guys!” said Baklakov as soon as the sled with Gurin disappeared around the bend. “I beg you not to play the fool.” If we all start hurting ourselves, who will make the route?

Baklakov’s question hung in the air. The gray-haired man sighed, as if answering his own thought: how long can you play the fool in life?

Ilya Nikolaevich said... - Kutsenko began instructively. But no one ever found out what exactly Ilya Nikolaevich Chinkov said about this life event.

What to do, boss? It’s better to do something than to remain silent without doing anything,” Valka Karzubin asked loudly. “It’s urgent!”

But no one answered him either. Valka Karzubin noisily opened the stove and began filling the kettle with snow.

The old man said that it would be freezing for three days, and then there would be snow and rain, and everything would turn sour,” Valka shouted through the roar of the primus stove. “Devaluation, eh, boss?”

“We’re moving into the mountains,” Baklanov said, waking up. “We’re resting until nightfall, and we’re crossing at night.”

It got very cold at night. Sleeping bags and fur clothes were loaded onto the homemade sled in which Gurin was transported. The gray-haired man harnessed himself to the sledge and went to the Tachin hills. They decided to cross in two stages. Baklakov filled his backpack with canned food, climbed into it while sitting, then got up on all fours and stood up. There were fifty kilograms in the backpack, but Baklakov could walk all night, because after the transition he remained on the Tachin hills to finish Gurin’s work.

Kutsenko and Valka Karzubin were left alone. Kutsenko spent a long time packing his Karzuba backpack so that the load was on his back and the back of his head, then suddenly he left it and pulled out a rubber boat, taken just in case. He forced Karzubin to pump her up. When the boat was inflated, Kutsenko poured water on it, froze it, put an open bag on the bottom and poured water on it again. The bag froze, and Kutsenko carefully built up thin layer ice. In this improvised sled they put a canister of diesel fuel, boxes of canned food, trays and tents. The boat glided easily through the snow, and at the tenth kilometer they caught up with Baklakov. The transport problem has been solved. On the return flight they collected all the samples. Baklakov stayed to document the clearing. It was a hot day, and, sitting in his shirt on the top of Tachin Hill, Baklanov was still trying to understand Gurin’s plan, why he considered this tiny granite massif a “ready-made laboratory.” From the top of the hill one could see the sparkling tundra, already dotted with dark thawed patches. The wall of the Ketung Highlands seemed very close. Baklakov described the contact zone. To the side, an arctic fox, already darkened, in dirty, shredded fur, yapped impudently and was indignant. Baklakov threw a stone at the arctic fox, the arctic fox jumped back and snorted like a cat. Baklakov laughed. History repeats itself. Last year he threw stones at the hares and crossed the Watap. Remembering last year's misfortune, he glanced sideways at Mongol's hard drive, basking in the sun.

The focused mood of the working summer returned to Baklanov again, and he forgot about Gurin. The compelling force of reality is that he will now have to change his work plan. He will have to abandon the circular routes and walk alone in a long sawtooth course. Sedoy and Karzubin will be in Kutsenko’s group. Now the main thing is to knock down the boundaries with the routes of Semyon Kopkov and Zhora Apryatin.

“Don’t fuss, don’t fuss,” Baklakov inspired himself. “The main thing is to work methodically and without jerks, then you’ll last for the whole summer. The main thing is to work every minute, don’t relax, and then you’ll survive this double summer.”

They barely managed to get out into the highlands when the time of warm fogs arrived. Steamy air permeated with sun and moisture lay on the tundra, on the hills, on the river valleys. The snow was disappearing before our eyes. In the fog, everything seemed distorted and incredible: the snow bunting was the size of a ram, the tent looked like a rock. Invisible water gurgled everywhere, and the settling snow sighed softly.

It was sixty kilometers from the new base to the nearest barrel of food. From here Baklakov decided to go west, to the upper reaches of Losinaya. Kutsenko was preparing to refine the upper reaches of the Kitam.

While getting ready for his route, Baklakov took out his pipe with a broken edge and a pack of shag.

“Boss!” Valka Karzubin was amazed. “Do you smoke?”

I smoke in the summer.

That's right, boss. I think that if a man doesn’t drink or smoke, it’s better not to turn your back on him. It’s better to have this in front of you, before your eyes.

In the summer you can safely have me at your back.

I'm not talking about ours.

A light wind blew, and wisps of fog rushed past them. They were yellow and orange from the sun. Kutsenko crawled out of the tent and handed Baklakov a flyer with fishing line. The hook had colorful pieces of insulation attached to it.

Wherever you find some water, throw it and pull it. One Kharyuz won’t be able to stand it anyway, he’ll grab it. You cut out his meat and mount it. After that, carry as many Kharyuzs as you like. They will grab you.

What if they don't?

“I think about fish a lot,” Kutsenko answered seriously. “Why carry canned food if there is plenty of food under your feet?”

Let's check. I'll take tea, biscuits and sugar. Instead of a bag - fur clothes. You can run with such a load.

Otherwise!” Kutsenko agreed.

“Our engineer didn’t smoke,” said Valka Karzubin, developing an unknown thought. “Will they cut off his legs or leave him?” Eh, not life, but a cantata!

And suddenly there was the whistling of wings and the alarming cackling of a goose from above. All that day and all night, geese fell towards them from the pass. Shel" head goose". And all night they listened to a cry, alarming, like a duty, and clear, like a life task.

Again Baklakov fell asleep to the flapping of the tent tarpaulin. Again, a few hours were enough for him to be ready for the route. Every morning Baklakov was blessed by the fur of the reindeer and the old man Kyae. He remembered him often and with tenderness. “Perhaps the legends about enlightened sages and holy magicians are based on something like this. What’s simpler?” thought Baklakov.

Again, his vision and hearing became sharper like an animal’s, and from afar Baklakov heard the sound of a stone under a ram’s hoof, heard the sighs of the wind and even the smell of stones. Kutsenko turned out to be right. Grayling was a fool for the vinyl chloride bait, and Baklakov spent almost no time on fishing. He stopped at the stream, caught it, ate it and moved on.

On the fifth day he went to the upper reaches of Losinaya. Here his filming was supposed to overlap with that of Zhora Apryatin. Disputes always arise at the junctions. Baklakov left all the cargo and, lightly, with one hard drive and a hammer, decided to properly walk around the surrounding area..

Baklanov walked down Losinaya. His goal was the rocks, last time squeezing the river before reaching the plain. The water jumped over the black stones, but its noise was different from the slow and menacing roar of the Vatap River, Gray Water, which he had yet to see this summer. Suddenly Baklakov heard the clear sound of metal hitting stone. "Maybe Zhora? Are you really that lucky?" But the knocking disappeared. Baklakov hurried down the river and after about two hundred meters he saw Zhora. He sat on a rock near the water and took something out of his field bag. The hammer lay nearby, glinting in the sun. Zhora bent over a book or diary. Baklakov decided to sneak up unnoticed and stun him. But I remembered that Zhora always carries an unfastened holster with a pistol on his belt.

Baklakov walked deliberately noisily, in full view. But Zhora did not notice him. Up close, he very much resembled a hermit who had retired from the world. He noticed Baklakov when there were five steps left. Zhora's hand rushed to his belt.

“Don’t be stupid!” Baklakov shouted.

Zhora stood up, and Baklakov noticed with surprise that Zhora did not have a pistol.

What the hell kind of cowboy are you?” said Baklakov. “I could tie you up like you’re sleepy.” Where's the gun?

“In my backpack,” Zhora answered embarrassedly.

Disarmed due to the cancellation of Severstroy? Zhora Apryatin did not answer anything, only with awkward haste began to stuff the book into his field bag.

On the route? Book? - Baklakov was surprised.

It’s so simple,” Zhora muttered.

Baklakov unceremoniously extended his hand. But Zhora did not give the book. He put it on his knees with the title down.

Grandfather sent it. Writes: useful.

“Like vitamins?” Baklakov smiled cheerfully.

To improve the soul. I wrote to my grandfather about the chief engineer. It turns out that in Buddha’s time he taught them a course in geomorphology. And my grandfather sent me a collection of Gautama’s teachings. He writes that student Chinkov, if he remembers him correctly, cannot bear the nickname Buddha. This contradicts the truth.” Zhora perked up, took the book and opened it at random. - Just don’t laugh, Seryoga. “Never in this world does hatred stop with hatred, but the absence of hatred stops it,” Zhora read in a guttural voice.

Sometimes it’s useful to give change,” Baklakov commented.

“Serious people don’t die. Seriousness is the path to immortality. Frivolity is the path to death. Frivolous people are like dead people,” Zhora read, blushing from the strained solemnity.

So, by the way, it is. “A strong thought,” Baklakov sighed.

“The well-spoken word of a man who does not follow it is as fruitless as beautiful flower with a pleasant color, but lacking aroma..."

Don't talk about high goals, but act personal example. Every party leader should know about this...

“Are you crazy about God?” asked Baklakov. - What does God have to do with it?

Well-ooh! I'm not Gurin, I'm a simple guy. But it seems like you are explaining religion to me.

For every person there is one religion: don’t be cheap, don’t be cunning, don’t be a fool, work,” answered Zhora.

Do you know: Gurin broke his legs?

In a foppish way. It's stupid and very unfortunate. A?

“Everything is going as it should be,” Zhora said sadly.

“Let’s stop filming,” Baklakov sighed. “I need to hurry to the east.” The Vatap River is waiting for me.

Come on,” Zhora agreed. “Soul is soul, events are events, and work remains work.”

A line of fog was creeping from the highlands into the Losinaya Valley. An hour later he covered them and the sheets of map, the metal of the hard drive, and the stones were immediately covered with drops of moisture.

A week later, Baklakov went to his party’s base. Everything was repeated, and he felt the usual state of tirelessness. Baklakov was very pleased with the route and the fact that he met Zhora Apryatin. There will be no conflict on the western border of the route. Maybe he will be lucky and meet Semyon Kopkov. “But if there is luck at the beginning of the route, then bad luck will be in the middle or at the end,” thought Baklakov.

Their tent stood in a valley, one edge of which was blue from the color of the lavas that made it, the other green. Sitting on the slope, Baklakov professionally peered at the contours of this funny valley. He saw Kutsenko, Karzubin and Sedoy. They came from the headwaters of the stream. Judging by the loaded backpacks, they also went on a multi-day race. They approached the tent, looked into it, and all three began to look at the mountains. Apparently, they expected that Baklakov had already returned. Baklakov sat motionless, and it was impossible to see him against the background of the stone. Kutsenko took off his shoes. With his keen vision, Baklakov saw his square feet. Kutsenko always took off his shoes after the route. Karzubin went to the stream with the kettle, and the noise of a primus stove came from the tent. Baklakov got up and began to run down the slope on light legs.

“We are all doomed people,” he thought as he walked. “We are doomed to our work. Desert fathers and blameless wives, beauties and millionaires - all are doomed to their role. We are doomed to work, and this, an enema without a mechanism, is the best and the highest doom in the world."

Epithalama! “The boss is coming,” Valka Karzubin said loudly near the tent.

They still had to, swearing, cursing fate, look for the third food barrel during the July snowfall. Valka Karzubin still had to moan at night from the ache in his hands, unaccustomed to wet work. They still had to get out to the upper reaches of Vatap, Gray Water, and sail along the river for a month, crossing tundra tracts on their routes. They had to go out to the deserted estuary and cross the stormy autumn sea. They had routes to the interior of the coast, they had to listen to the whistle of the wind in the sand dunes, and they had to work in the ruined Nauda Bay, which smelled thoroughly of hydrogen sulfide. They had to remember the crimson, half-sky, sunsets and the swaying of a lonely broom on the pebble spits. We had to sit at Foggy Cape for a week, trying every day to go around it. Each time a strong wind threw them back, they silently climbed ashore, lit a fire from the driftwood, dried out and again pushed the whaleboat onto the water. And again the wind flooded them and threw them back behind the rocks. Only the fury of the end of the season gave them strength at this time. They had to remember this summer until the end of their days, because it was reminded of itself by the interruptions of the heart, the night sweat of the body. Maybe it was last summer according to the old Severstroy method - “do or die”.

From the top of the hill one could see the sparkling tundra, already dotted with dark thawed patches. The wall of the Ketung Highlands seemed very close. Baklakov described the contact zone. To the side, an arctic fox, already darkened, in dirty, shredded fur, yelped impudently and was indignant. Baklakov threw a stone at the arctic fox, the arctic fox jumped back and snorted like a cat. Baklakov laughed. History repeats itself. Last year he threw stones at hares and crossed the Watap. Remembering the past, he glanced sideways at Mongol’s hard drive, basking in the sun.
The focused mood of the working summer returned to Baklakov again, and he forgot about Gurin. The compelling force of reality is that he will now have to change his work plan. He will have to abandon the circular routes and walk alone in a long sawtooth course. Sedoy and Karzubin will be in Kutsenko’s group. Now the main thing is to knock down the boundaries with the routes of Semyon Kopkov and Zhora Apryatin.
“Don’t fuss, don’t fuss,” Baklakov inspired himself. - The main thing is to work methodically and without jerking, then you will have enough for the whole summer. The main thing is to work every minute, not to relax, and then you will survive this double summer.”
They barely managed to get out into the highlands when the time of warm fogs arrived. Steamy air permeated with sun and moisture lay on the tundra, on the hills, on the river valleys. The snow was disappearing before our eyes. In the fog, everything seemed distorted and incredible: the snow bunting was the size of a ram, the tent looked like a rock. Invisible water gurgled everywhere and the settling snow sighed softly.
It was sixty kilometers from the new base to the nearest barrel of food. From here Baklakov decided to go west, to the upper reaches of Losinaya. Kutsenko was preparing to refine the upper reaches of the Kitam.
While getting ready for his route, Baklakov took out his pipe with a broken edge and a pack of shag.
- Boss! - Valka Karzubin was amazed. - Do you smoke?
- I smoke in the summer.
- That's right, boss. I think that if a man doesn’t drink or smoke, it’s better not to turn your back on him. It’s better to have this in front of you, before your eyes.
- In the summer you can safely have me at your back.
- I'm not talking about ours.
A light wind blew, and wisps of fog rushed past them. They were yellow and orange from the sun. Kutsenko crawled out of the tent and handed Baklakov a flyer with fishing line. The hook had colorful pieces of insulation attached to it.
- Where you see some water, throw it and pull it. One Kharyuz won’t be able to stand it anyway, he’ll grab it. You cut out his meat and mount it. After that, carry as many Kharyuzs as you like. They will grab you.
- What if they don’t?
“I think about fish a lot,” Kutsenko answered seriously. - Why carry canned food if there is plenty of food under your feet?
- Let's check. I'll take tea, biscuits and sugar. Instead of a bag - fur clothes. You can run with such a load.
- Otherwise! - Kutsenko agreed.
“Our engineer didn’t smoke,” said Valka Karzubin, developing an unknown thought. - Will they cut off his legs or leave him? Eh, not life, but a cantata!
And suddenly there was the whistling of wings and the alarming cackle of a goose from above. All that day and all night, geese fell towards them from the pass. The “chief goose” was walking. And all night they listened to a cry as alarming as a duty, and clear as a life task.
Again Baklakov fell asleep to the flapping of the tent tarpaulin. Again, a few hours were enough for him to be ready for the route. Every morning Baklakov was blessed by the fur of the reindeer and the old man Kyae. He remembered him often and with tenderness. “Perhaps the legends about enlightened sages and holy magicians are based on such a Kyae. What’s easier?” - thought Baklakov.
Again, his vision and hearing became sharper than an animal’s, and from afar Baklakov heard the sound of a stone under a ram’s hoof, heard the sighs of the wind and even the smell of stones. Kutsenko turned out to be right. Grayling was a fool for the vinyl chloride bait, and Baklakov spent almost no time on fishing. He stopped at the stream, caught it, ate it and moved on.
On the fifth day he went to the upper reaches of Losinaya. Here his filming was supposed to overlap with that of Zhora Apryatin. Disputes always arise at the junctions. Baklakov left all the cargo and, lightly with one hard drive and a hammer, decided to properly walk around the surroundings.
Baklakov walked down Losina. His goal was the rocks that squeezed the river for the last time before reaching the plain. The water jumped over the black stones, but its noise was different from the slow and menacing roar of the Vatap River, Gray Water, which he had yet to see this summer. Suddenly Baklakov heard the clear sound of metal hitting stone. “Maybe Zhora? Are you really that lucky? But the knocking disappeared. Baklakov hurried down the river and after about two hundred meters he saw Zhora. He was sitting on a rock near the water and taking something out of his field bag. The hammer lay nearby, glinting in the sun. Zhora bent over a book or diary. Baklakov decided to sneak up unnoticed and stun him. But I remembered that Zhora always carries an unfastened holster with a pistol on his belt.
Baklakov walked deliberately noisily, in full view. But Zhora did not notice him. Up close, he very much resembled a hermit who had retired from the world. He noticed Baklakov when there were five steps left. Zhora's hand rushed to his belt.
- Don't be stupid! - Baklakov shouted.
Zhora stood up, and Baklakov noticed with surprise that Zhora did not have a pistol.
- What the hell kind of cowboy are you? - said Baklakov. - I can tie you up as if you were sleepy. Where's the gun?
“In my backpack,” Zhora answered embarrassedly.
- Disarmed due to the cancellation of Severstroy? Zhora Apryatin didn’t answer, he just stuffed the book into his field bag with the awkward haste of a herd.
- On the route? Book? - Baklakov was surprised.
“It’s so simple,” Zhora muttered. Baklakov unceremoniously extended his hand. But Zhora did not give the book. He put it on his knees with the title down.
- Grandfather sent it. Writes: useful.
- Like vitamins? - Baklakov smiled cheerfully.
- To improve the soul. I wrote to my grandfather about the chief engineer. It turns out that in Buddhist times he taught them a course in geomorphology. And my grandfather sent me a collection of Gautama’s teachings. He writes that student Chinkov, if he remembers him correctly, cannot bear the nickname Buddha. This is contrary to the truth. - Zhora perked up, took the book and opened it at random. - Just don’t laugh, Seryoga.
“Never in this world does hatred stop with hatred, but the absence of hatred stops it,” Zhora read in a guttural voice.
“Sometimes it’s useful to give change,” Baklakov commented.
- “Serious people don’t die. Seriousness is the path to immortality. Frivolity is the path to death. The frivolous are like the dead,” Zhora read, blushing from strained solemnity.
- Yes, by the way, it is. “A strong thought,” Baklakov sighed.
- “A well-spoken word from a person who does not follow it is as fruitless as a beautiful flower with a pleasant color, but devoid of fragrance...”
- Don’t talk about lofty goals, but act by example. Every party leader should know about this...
“It’s hard to become human,” Zhora’s voice rang. “The life of mortals is difficult, it is difficult to listen to the truth...”
- Have you hit God or something? - asked Baklakov.
- What does God have to do with it?
- Well! I'm not Gurin, I'm a simple guy. But it seems like you are explaining religion to me.
“There is one religion for every person: don’t be cheap, don’t be cunning, don’t be a fool, work,” answered Zhora.
- Do you know: Gurin broke his legs?
- How?
- In a foppish way. It's stupid and very unfortunate. A?
“Everything is going as it should be,” Zhora said sadly.
“Let’s close the shoot,” Baklakov sighed. - I need to hurry to the east. The Vatap River is waiting for me.
“Come on,” Zhora agreed. - Soul is soul, events are events, and work remains work.
A line of fog was creeping from the highlands into the Losinaya Valley. An hour later she covered them, and the sheets of the map, the metal of the hard drive and the stones were immediately covered with drops of moisture.
...A week later, Baklakov went to his party’s base. Everything was repeated, and he felt the usual state of tirelessness. Baklakov was very pleased with the route and the fact that he met Zhora Apryatin. There will be no conflict on the western border of the route. Maybe he will be lucky and meet Semyon Kopkov. “But if there is luck at the beginning of the route, then bad luck will be in the middle or at the end,” thought Baklakov.
Their tent stood in a valley, one edge of which was blue from the color of the lavas that made it, the other green. Sitting on the slope, Baklakov professionally peered at the contours of this funny valley. He saw Kutsenko, Karzubin and Sedoy. They came from the headwaters of the stream. Judging by the loaded backpacks, they also went on a multi-day adventure. They approached the tent, looked into it, and all three began to look at the mountains. Apparently, they expected that Baklakov had already returned. Baklakov sat motionless, and it was impossible to see him against the background of the stone. Kutsenko took off his shoes. With his keen vision, Baklakov saw his square feet. Kutsenko always took off his shoes after the route. Karzubin went to the stream with the kettle, and the noise of a primus stove came from the tent. Was late afternoon silence, and the sounds came through very clearly and distinctly. Baklakov got up and began to run down the slope on light legs.
“We are all doomed people,” he thought as he walked. - We are doomed to our work. Desert fathers and blameless wives, beauties and millionaires - everyone is doomed to their role. We are doomed to work, and this, an enema without a mechanism, is the best and highest doom in the world.”
- Epithalama! The boss is coming,” Valka Karzubin said loudly near the tent.
They still had to, swearing, cursing fate, look for the third food barrel during the July snowfall. Valka Karzubin still had to moan at night from the ache in his hands, unaccustomed to wet work. They still had to get out to the upper reaches of Vatap, Gray Water, and sail along the river for a month, crossing tundra tracts on their routes. They had to go out to the deserted estuary and cross the stormy autumn sea. They had routes to the interior of the coast, had to listen to the whistle of the wind in the sand dunes and had to work in the ruined Nauda Bay, which smelled of hydrogen sulfide. They had to remember the crimson sunsets that filled the sky and the swaying of a lonely broom on the pebble spits. We had to sit at Foggy Cape for a week, trying every day to go around it. Each time a strong wind threw them back, they silently climbed ashore, lit a fire from the driftwood, dried out and again pushed the whaleboat onto the water. And again the wind flooded them and threw them back behind the rocks.
Only the fury of the end of the season gave them strength at this time. They had to remember this summer until the end of their days, because it was reminded of itself by the interruptions of the heart, the night sweat of the body. Maybe this was the last summer according to the old Severstroy method - “do or die”.
39
...Years have passed since then. Chinkov's prediction came true: they discovered a cluster of gold placers in the Territory with very difficult conditions occurrence and with rich content. This required luck, personnel and luck again. This required persistence, ruthless, risky calculation of Chinkov. And Kutsenko's scent. And the fear of death before dawn, characteristic of core workers, is common among those who bore the brunt of their first labors. This required the calluses and sweat of hard workers with and without nicknames. Whatever it was, the state received new source gold.
The village has long received city status. It is built up with five-story block houses. But still, in winter and summer, it is shaken by dusty southerners, and the round house of the tin discoverers still stands, sandwiched by construction. But soon this house will be demolished, just as Mark Putin’s house was demolished, because the reverent legends of the first times dissolve in the visiting crowd, like good wine dissolves in water - without sediment.
...If there was a force in the world that would return everyone connected with the gold of the Territory, who died on the routes, disappeared in the “bitch corners,” lost on the mainland, went into the prosperous standard of “life like everyone else,”
- they would all repeat these years. Not in the name of money, since they knew what money was while working in the Territory, not even in the name of debt, since real debt sits in the essence of a person, and not in verbal formulations, not for the sake of glory, but for the sake of that unknown, in the name of which begins and ends individual life person. Maybe the point is not to show much excitement when meeting, not to say that “we should get on the phone sometime and...” So that you can simply say “remember?” and delve into the sweet heaviness of memories, where rivers, hills, sweat, cold, blood, fatigue, dreams and holy feeling are mixed required work. So that in a moment of doubt you will be supported by the past years, when you did not cheapen, did not flow thoughtlessly with water along prepared gutters, but knew roughness and beauty real world, lived as a man and a person should live. If you have learned to look for a person not in the smooth opportunist, but in those who try life on their homely skin, if you have resisted the hypnosis of acquisition and safe, cozy truths, if you know with a grin that the world has many faces and one hundred percent virtue has so far been achieved only in legends , if you believe in the raw fury of your work, you will always hear from a distant time the cry of a hard worker named Kefir: “But we can, guys! By God, we can!”
Today is the consequence of yesterday, and the cause of the coming day is created today. So why weren’t you on that tractor sleigh and it wasn’t your face that was burned by the frosty February wind, reader? Where have you been and what have you been doing all these years? Are you satisfied with yourself?..

Part one,
in which I invite you to take the medicine after undergoing a self-diagnosis

Cinema is the most important medicine for us.

My friends, please self-diagnosis! Please check yourself for this symptoms:
- lives in you tramp spirit, passion for exploits,
- ineradicable interest in the unknown, the transcendental, the unknown,
- you are looking for meaning of life where others are not looking,
- the words “Get ready for a great goal, and happiness will find you” make you heart beat faster,
- beauty wildlife blows your mind, you cannot calmly look at the snowy mountains in the moonlight,

You know that Russia is a country of great opportunities,
- You love your homeland and with all your heart you want her prosperity,
- you are interested in Soviet history,
- you experience deep respect for our grandparents and you understand that they knew how to live in a way that we do not know how, and left us an invaluable inheritance,
- you want to live your life so that you are not ashamed of it,
- you are a geologist and passionately love your profession,
- you are a woman, and you cannot remain calm when you see bearded men in rough sweaters.

Have you discovered 5 symptoms in yourself at the same time?
Doctor, please write down “ Territory"! (2014 film, directed by Alexander Melnik).
It is advisable to take at big screen(and the larger the screen, the more effective). After reception answer the questions at the end of this post. And act, act! It’s not without reason that you discovered these symptoms in yourself. Yes, for good reason...

Composition of cinema-medicine

be ready experience the impact these components on yourself: your pupils may dilate and your eyes become moist, your breathing may become faster and deeper, your pulse will speed up, your heart will begin to beat new rhythms, the strings of the soul will ring piercingly. And from somewhere deep down thoughts may come to you. About people, about destinies, about our country, about how they lived before and how they live now, about who I am and what I am meant for. If you're ready for this, go ahead! To the cinema!

Part two,
in which I invite you to become acquainted with the effect that the drug "Territory" can have on some who take it (four times, mind you)

A vain gift, a random gift, Life, why were you given to me?

Vagrants don’t need home and comfort,
We need the ocean, the land.
What do the Ursa stars sing to them,
Neither you nor I know.
Oleg Kuvaev

There is in our large human family special amazing people . Do you know what they say about them? Not of this world. For such people, it is not enough or does not need at all what people from this world strive for with all their hearts, and having achieved this, they find simple earthly happiness and feeling of meaning in life.

Family, children, home - a full cup, financial wealth, wealth, career, power, travel, fame, honor, love (the kind that is sensual, romantic, and the kind that is for all living things) - everything it doesn't fill the ringing emptiness inside those special ones, not of this world. These gifts have no meaning to them until they make sense own life not clear.

AND desire to understand meaning so great that if it is not filled, then such a person has neither peace nor joy in life, but there is only emptiness, which is gradually filled with such pain that it is as if there is no life itself...

From the position of system-vector psychology of Yuri Burlan, it becomes mental nature is clear these strange, from the point of view of others, people. They have special type wishes and the corresponding special character properties specified to fill them. Turning to SVP terminology, we say that these people are carriers sound vector.

Who am I? What am I for? How does everything work? What is beyond the boundaries of the known? What's beyond the boundaries of my consciousness? What's the point of everything, what is happening in me, with me, with all of us?

Driven by the desire to understand the meaning, the sound artist unconsciously rushes into areas where there is an opportunity realize the hidden. In the depths of the earth, in tiny particles of matter, in the patterns of numbers and laws of nature, in words, in music, in the psyche...

In the past, including the times reflected in our film, carriers of such desires could fill their thirst for discovery with philosophy, religion, music, literature, poetry, science: mathematics, physics, astronomy, psychiatry. Geology is a field of activity in which sound engineers were especially keen. Now from filling with sound desires the situation is completely different.

You work in the Arctic. There are no plebeians in the Arctic

For the sake of that unknown, for the sake of which
and the individual begins
human life...
Oleg Kuvaev

Different properties and shades of characters, inherent in representatives of the sound vector, we are with you we can observe in beautiful and strong geologist heroes. The combination and complementarity of these properties allows what happened to happen.

With admiration and respect we look at Ilya Nikolaevich Chinkov-Buddha, ideological inspirer, fanatically obsessed with the passion to find gold and subordinating his life to it, merciless to himself and to others and adamantly believing in victory. Exactly his faith in gold Territory turns the intangible idea of ​​gold into real tangible gold.
“Have a red-hot brain, generate ideas and immediately reconcile them with the coercive force of reality. “Be ruthless and wise in everything that concerns gold,” we hear Chinkov’s motto and believe that with the strength of the prophets in their moral confidence.

We see Baklakov - incredible charming wandering man, who is accompanied everywhere by a special comfort, no matter what the meaning and no matter where he goes. Baklakov’s thought, penetrating into the bowels of the earth in an effort to solve the mystery movements of earth layers, faults and granite massifs, reveals the relationships that define the deposit. The birthplace of gold.
AND there are no limits for him, there are no boundaries, life is eternal, and he is immortal.

appears before us penultimate adventurer Gurin in all his glory: aloof intellectual, wanderer, whose desire to defend their identity in the coming the era of “general obscurity” pushes to extravagant words and actions. Climb an inaccessible pass for three days to drink 50 grams of cognac and think about the frailty of life, have practically no personal belongings except a record player, make work routes exclusively on alpine skiing. It is his academic knowledge and ability to think in abstractions help Baklakov free his thought from everything unnecessary and send it in the right direction.

The overall thread of the narrative is woven into the contribution of each hero who found himself in the Arctic and gave of himself in search of gold. And principled, man in himself, Mongols, and polar Wolf aka the Viking Zhora Apryatin, and the talented washer Kutsenko, and the Viennese coffee-loving tanker Uncle Kostya, and other geologists, gold miners - they all went to these wild places, literally to the ends of the earth, not for money, not for fame, not for debt, and " for the sake of that unknown, for the sake of which a person’s individual life begins" Author of the novel on which the film was based geologist Oleg Kuvaev, myself owner of the sound vector in his psyche, this is exactly how he looked at his life and his comrades.

Only together, otherwise we won’t survive

This fusion of destinies and characters, created working for a common cause, and gives birth to the same result. Gold. Gold for the country. Countries with special mentality. It was in this country that the heroes of our film, who have a special type of desire within themselves, managed live meaningfully and become successful as individuals.

A special mentality - or general system values- has evolved over centuries and has determined the worldview of the peoples of our huge country. And to this day it is inherent in us unlimited collectivist-communal worldview. In the language of system-vector psychology by Yuri Burlan it is called urethral-muscular. Such a mentality could only be formed in those climatic and weather conditions in which you can't survive alone. Only pool, only mutual assistance, mutual assistance, only together. And the priority of the general over the particular, the priority of society over the individual - otherwise you cannot survive.

The Arctic is the clearest example of this way of life. Step left, step right from the common cause to one's own self-interest- and immediately dangerous, very dangerous.

The wanderer Gurin, the penultimate adventurer, having played with his exclusivity, originality and desire to keep his distance, almost lost his legs, and he was saved only by the fact that others did not keep this distance, but on the contrary, rushed as fast as they could to meet him.

The exemplary Viking Zhora Apryatin at one far from wonderful moment found himself on the verge of trial or suicide: he almost killed his comrades, dashingly portraying a boss who has no orders.

But Gray... He was left alone with the gray-haired, stern gray hulks, and who will win this fight is beyond any doubt. Apparently, Sedoy got under way, unable to withstand the tests of the North.

A society in which everyone

Our concern is simple,
Our concern is:
If only my native country lived,
And there are no other worries.
Alexandra Pakhmutova

The system of ideological values ​​inherent in the urethral-muscular mentality has enormous potential for development spiritual, moral, and therefore production, economic the power of the country. A society in which the main idea is the idea work for the future- for everyone, to give from oneself - to everyone, embedded in the roots of the worldview of every resident of the country - this is society of great opportunities.

Just imagine: I work for the whole, and the whole takes care of me. Because the whole is WE, and in this WE are all our own, there are no strangers. And the children are all ours. And old people. And the sick and infirm. This is all us. How can you deceive someone? Receive benefits at someone else's expense? There are no strangers. How can you shirk and do your work carelessly? How can you be dishonest, unscrupulous, steal, or leave people in trouble? No way. This is simply impossible.

Would you say utopia? But it was in our history! And on short period time this ideology worked. Of course, it was not possible to build an ideal society. But a lot has been achieved. And the generation of our grandparents is an example that you can live like this - to give to society, to the future, to build not for oneself, for children.

We are all doomed to our role, we are all doomed to work. And this is the best doom in the world

Light the fires!
No one should live in the dark!
Uncle Kostya

Having knowledge of system-vector psychology, we see that every part of the whole, that is, each person has his own an innate set of desires and mental properties to realize these desires for the prosperity and development of the whole and to be happy from this. Honest work for the benefit of all, in the wise words of Vladimir Mikhailovich Mongolov, reduces the amount of evil in the world. After all, what we call “evil” is often associated with the imperfection of one’s own life, in other words, the inability to live among other people.

“Why are there so many people who wanted to live and failed?” - the God of Fire asks us. We don’t really know ourselves, we wander in the dark, we don’t realize our potential, or we don’t fully realize it, or we do everything only for ourselves, and therefore don’t fit into the general. We live, we die, it’s a shame...

The implementation is beautiful. And contagious. I look at these beautiful people in their realization, and a fire lights up inside me, a passionate desire for my own beautiful realization: giving out what is rich inside.

Part three,

So let's write it, Epilogue

The generation of our grandparents knew how to look at the world from the wondrous heights of lofty moral truths. And I? How do I look at the world?
- What do I need to change in myself and my actions, so that before I die I am not ashamed of my life, in order to know that I performed did it do what it was intended for, or at least tried?
- How honest is my work? What do I do to there is more good in the world?
- But not sound guy Am I in time?

The article was written using training materials on

The traditional “field workers' evening” served as a milestone separating one expedition season from another. Only those who spent the summer in the tundra were invited to the evening...

There was a dull knock on the control wall, there was a sort of extended sigh, and immediately the glass at the end of the corridor began to rattle and whine.

Composition

Once a person is born, he develops, studies, starts a family, goes to work - the bottom line is this is what remains in our lives, and few people think about the purpose and why we do this. What is the purpose of man? IN this text O.M. Kuvaev discusses precisely this issue.

The relevance of the problem under consideration, it seems to me, is determined by the fact that at all times people have searched for the meaning of life and thought about their true purpose, but one truth has not yet been found for everyone. The author unfolds before us a picture of the traditional “field workers’ evening” and draws attention to the fact that in the conditions of a raging natural phenomenon, a strong wind with the name “Yuzhak”, the entire expedition team is forced to stay in tents with minimum quantity means for survival. One of the forwarders argues: “...why and for what? Why are my workers moaning in their bags?” He emphasizes that it is not for personal gain that they freeze in tents, just as it is not for money that people risk their lives in war. War is evil, as are epidemics and disorder of systems. Yuzhak is also evil, like any other element. And man is the only creature that can influence all this.

O.M. Kuvaev convinces the reader that the purpose of man is to fight subjective evil. Objective evil is natural disasters, subjective evil is large-scale problems that humanity, through its stupidity, creates for itself. And the author believes that our task is to eliminate this evil, “ common task for your ancestors, you and your descendants."

I, like the author, am convinced that throughout his entire existence, a person creates problems for himself, he brings evil into his life. These are conflicts that develop into revolutions and wars, and new diseases of the soul and body, and all sorts of political, social, economic systems, which, in theory, should make our lives better, but which, in the end, only complicate everything. Our task, our true destiny is to be able to resist universal evil, both objective and subjective, and thereby make not only our lives better, but also the lives of our future descendants.

The hero of the novel F.M. saw the meaning of his existence in this. Dostoevsky "Crime and Punishment". Rodion Raskolnikov had his own theory, according to which “evil” were people who were unable to bring something new into our lives. According to the hero’s theory, they, who did not have “the gift or talent to say a new word among themselves,” could and should have been killed - after all, they, being evil, brought the same evil to the masses. This part of the people, according to the hero, did not have the right to life, because it was they who gave rise to crime, drunkenness, poverty and monstrous stratification of the population, because of which everyone suffered, including those whom Rodion classified as another group of people, to “those with the right.” The ending of the novel speaks about how valid this theory was, but the hero’s very desire to make life better, destroy evil and try to build “heaven on earth” cannot but arouse respect from the reader.

“So who are you, finally?”

I am part of that force that always wants evil and always does good,” - this is the epigraph to the novel by M.A. Bulgakov "The Master and Margarita". In view ordinary person, at least somewhat familiar with religion, the devil is, one might say, the official representative of sins and vices, the complete opposite of God. But in the novel M.A. Bulgakov Woland has slightly different qualities. Yes, he has the right to punish a person for his sins, and throughout the entire novel the hero commits all sorts of outrages, driving many people crazy. But his every trick is nothing more than “evil in the name of good” - Woland deliberately points out the vices of people, exaggerating them so that they understand that they are living wrong. We understand that this hero is fighting evil when we see his good intentions towards the Master and the decency of his actions towards Margarita. This seemingly a priori dishonest representative of Hell fulfills his promise and helps the Master and Margarita reunite. In this novel, the real evil is ordinary people, who with their own vices complicate their lives, and Volan and his retinue, no matter how outwardly frightening they may be, are trying to teach people a lesson and make their existence less vicious.

In conclusion, I would like to note once again that, of course, it is impossible to destroy all evil on earth, but we can reduce its amount in our lives, starting with ourselves. If each of us treats ourselves and others with dignity, thinks about the future and periodically does good, then there will be no evil in the world. And I believe that this idea is not utopian - everything is in our hands.

“We are all doomed people,” he thought as he walked. - We are doomed to our work. Desert fathers and blameless wives, beauties and millionaires - everyone is doomed to their role. We are doomed to work, and this, an enema without a mechanism, is the best and highest doom in the world.”

Epithalama! The boss is coming,” Valka Karzubin said loudly near the tent.

They still had to, swearing, cursing fate, look for the third food barrel during the July snowfall. Valka Karzubin still had to moan at night from the ache in his hands, unaccustomed to wet work. They still had to get out to the upper reaches of Vatap, Gray Water, and sail along the river for a month, crossing tundra tracts on their routes. They had to go out to the deserted estuary and cross the stormy autumn sea. They had routes to the interior of the coast, had to listen to the whistle of the wind in the sand dunes and had to work in the ruined Nauda Bay, which smelled of hydrogen sulfide. They had to remember the crimson sunsets that filled the sky and the swaying of a lonely broom on the pebble spits. We had to sit at Foggy Cape for a week, trying every day to go around it. Each time a strong wind threw them back, they silently climbed ashore, lit a fire from the driftwood, dried out and again pushed the whaleboat onto the water. And again the wind flooded them and threw them back behind the rocks.

Only the fury of the end of the season gave them strength at this time. They had to remember this summer until the end of their days, because it was reminded of itself by the interruptions of the heart, the night sweat of the body. Maybe this was the last summer according to the old Severstroy method - “do or die”.

...Years have passed since then. Chinkov's prediction came true: they discovered a cluster of gold placers in the Territory with very difficult conditions and rich content. This required luck, personnel and luck again. This required persistence, ruthless, risky calculation of Chinkov. And Kutsenko's scent. And the fear of death before dawn, characteristic of core workers, is common among those who bore the brunt of their first labors. This required the calluses and sweat of hard workers with and without nicknames. Whatever it was, the state received a new source of gold.

The village has long received city status. It is built up with five-story block houses. But still, in winter and summer, it is shaken by dusty southerners, and the round house of the tin discoverers still stands, sandwiched by construction. But soon this house will be demolished, just as Mark Putin’s house was demolished, because the reverent legends of the first times dissolve in the visiting crowd, like good wine dissolves in water - without sediment.

...If there was a force in the world that would return everyone connected with the gold of the Territory, who died on the routes, disappeared in the “bitch corners,” lost on the mainland, went into the prosperous standard of “life like everyone else,”

They would all repeat these years. Not in the name of money, since they knew what money was while working in the Territory, not even in the name of debt, since real debt sits in the essence of a person, and not in verbal formulations, not for the sake of glory, but for the sake of that unknown, in the name of which begins and passes the individual life of a person. Maybe the point is not to show much excitement when meeting, not to say that “we should get on the phone somehow and...” So that you can simply say “remember?” and delve into the sweet heaviness of memories, where rivers, hills, sweat, cold, blood, fatigue, dreams and the holy feeling of necessary work are mixed. So that in a moment of doubt you will be supported by the past years, when you did not cheapen, did not flow thoughtlessly with water along prepared gutters, but knew the roughness and beauty of the real world, lived as a man and a person should live. If you have learned to look for a person not in the smooth opportunist, but in those who try life on their homely skin, if you have resisted the hypnosis of acquisition and safe, cozy truths, if you know with a grin that the world has many faces and one hundred percent virtue has so far been achieved only in legends , if you believe in the raw fury of your work, you will always hear from a distant time the cry of a hard worker named Kefir: “But we can, guys! By God, we can!”

Today is the consequence of yesterday, and the cause of the coming day is created today. So why weren’t you on that tractor sleigh and it wasn’t your face that was burned by the frosty February wind, reader? Where have you been and what have you been doing all these years? Are you satisfied with yourself?..